REMEMBER how idiotically optimistic you were a fortnight into this shitstorm, 12 months ago? Remember how unthinkingly you believed these laughable delusions?
We’ll be back to normal by summer
There’s no way a respiratory disease could survive the baking heat and relentless aridity of a British summer, you believed without evidence. This’ll blow over in weeks. You even booked a lavish summer holiday as a treat for staying cooped up in your flat. The refund has now been put back to May.
We’ll always appreciate the NHS
The Clap for Carers was a heartwarming moment of unity, a mass realisation that our heroic NHS workers should be financially rewarded. The idea that the prime minister whose life they saved would f**k them over with a real-terms pay cut seemed beyond belief.
This will ruin the Tories
The missed COBRA meetings, delayed national lockdown and PPE shortages all meant the writing was on the wall for the Tories, especially with Keir Starmer as a new, popular and effective leader of the opposition. What a complete tool you were for believing that bollocks. 127,000 Covid deaths and Boris is about to take Hartlepool.
Some time at home will do us good
Pressing pause on modern life will let us all take stock, we claimed. ‘Why have I been wasting old bananas when I could be baking them into lovely hot banana bread?’ you said. Because they taste like stale shit and being at home for a year is boring. Seems obvious, but 2020 was a different and altogether more stupid time.
All our problems will be solved by a vaccine
Once the vaccine comes along, one jab and the world instantly returns to normal. Apart from the rollout, and the other countries, and the different efficacity of different jabs, and the variants, and all those other minor details that mean we’ll be social distancing for the rest of our lives.
We’ll all have a great 2021
Okay, 2020 might be a write-off, you were prepared to admit. But 2021? That will be a year of hope and joy and renewed life and huge parties, parties like we’ve never partied before. Remember that next week when you’re pathetically grateful to be able to book a table in a chain pub’s beer garden.