LONDON, U.K. -- The world outside felt rather listless this morning. Airless. That perhaps reflected a state of mind, more than anything barometric.

It felt like… Pandemic Monday All Over Again.

So much for the healing power of a workless weekend, which is supposed to reinvigorate tired bodies and lift bedraggled spirits. For the millions of truly workless, it was just a couple more aimless, unproductive, unpaid days.

Boris Johnson is no longer workless. He apparently returned to 10 Downing Street, “raring to go,” after his brush with COVID death.

And immediately declared that he had been “mugged.”

This is perhaps the moment to confess that when he was admitted to intensive care, I told my colleagues: “He’s going to die.”

And I wasn’t the only one who entertained such a horrible thought. After days hooked up to an oxygen pump, the prime minister himself announced, “It could have gone either way.”

The question many Brits are asking then, has Boris changed?

(By now, when you say “Boris,” most people know instantly who you’re talking about, which must be either gratifying, or head-bending. Who needs a last name? The other one of course is Donald. Small neighborhood).

As to the matter at hand, has deadly illness changed Boris Johnson? Of course, only he would know that, but a lot of people are speculating. Which is harmless fun now that he’s no longer dying.

The Observer’s very observant chief political commentator, Andrew Rawnsley, wrote a skewering analysis of the old Boris, hoping the new Boris would bury his waggish self and get serious.

Boris: who early in March visited infected patients in hospital and proudly announced, “I shook hands with everybody, you’ll be pleased to know.”

Boris: who deployed the phrase “squashing the sombrero,” as in, flattening the infection curve.

Boris: who jokingly described the desperate need for more ventilators as “Operation Last Gasp.”

He missed the worst of the pandemic, and now comes back to lead a country that is struggling to find protective gear for its healthcare workers, and has done a fairly dismal job of testing and tracing.

Boris didn’t apologize for any of that, but he did apologize for being away from his desk longer than he would have wanted.

He spent two weeks convalescing at Chequers, the prime minister’s country estate, where Churchill often holed up during his war -- fighting and grandly winning over the Nazis.

The 16th-century manor was always full of family, friends and advisors during those terrible years. At the happiest of moments, Churchill would puff on a cigar, put on martial music and parade around the dining room.

One can imagine Boris, still in isolation and under doctor’s orders, whispering at the walls for inspiration -- reaching out to his hero’s ghost at the moment of his own sobering challenge.

“What shall I do Winston? You were the greatest orator this country has ever known. Give me just a couple of stirring lines. I ask for so little.”

Boris at least seemed healthy and sounded vigorous as he stepped in front of the Downing Street microphone. A man renewed and ready to carry on the fight.

“If this virus were a physical assailant,” he declared, “an unexpected and invisible mugger,” which he confirmed to the nation it was, “then this is the moment we have begun to wrestle it to the floor.”

What do you think Winston?