My body is screaming in protest at what I have done to it over the past four days. I’m human foie gras.
The only people who feel worse are the England cricket team after spending more days in quarantine (14) than on the pitch (12), so abject have they been in Australia.
In homes across Britain, the coconut Quality Street intifada has begun, as couples begin hostilities over the hated last few flavours in the tin.
Meanwhile there’s chaos in suburbia, as the double bank holiday throws refuse collection into turmoil. Even the binfluencers don’t know which day to put out their rubbish.
However you spent Christmas, be it alone or in the company of family or friends, I hope this finds you in good health – and hopeful about what 2022 may bring.
The customary new year chatter about resolutions has been replaced by a simple plea for better times.
Robbed of the ability to plan our lives in the way we once used to, people have resorted to denial, or to short-term coping mechanisms which see us rarely look further ahead than the month in front of us.
I don’t bother much with resolutions, but my own will be to plan life as if we are returning to normality.
To continue to behave carefully around other people, of course – and then to rearrange things nearer the time if we must. I am fortunate to have small children who are obstinately resistant to catastrophe.
There is plenty of good news about Omicron (including its lesser severity, and new data showing reduced need for hospital ventilation) as well as concerning stats about a record high number of infections.
And that’s before the inevitable spike caused by Christmas socialising.
Yet we know much more about our foe now than we did a fortnight ago. In two weeks’ time the picture will once again look very different.
If I could have one wish granted for the new year, it’s that NHS medics see their best-case scenarios play out.