UNSURE if it matters that Johnson’s July 2020 birthday party broke the rules? Compare it to the shitty celebration you had that year:
Unless your birthday fell before lockdown or in the weird summer reprieve nobody trusted, it took place in the same spot as everything else in 2020: on the sofa in a post-midday wank stupor.
Nobody attended your birthday party in person because popping round, getting trashed and eating Party Rings didn’t count as state-approved daily exercise. After months indoors you would have given anything to celebrate with your mates. Even just 10 minutes would’ve cheered you up, but the police made it very clear that was illegal.
Presents: not many
Did you get any? Were they any good? Hard to tell; you had so many Amazon parcels of unnecessary tat delivered in 2020 that you lost track. Did your auntie break her habit of giving you generic, impersonal gifts, or did you buy that N64 game you always wanted as a kid for yourself at 2am while blind drunk? You’ll never know.
After quickly exhausting the joy of baking during the lockdown’s banana bread phase, you bought your own cake from the shops. Panic-buyers had already snapped up all the Colin the Caterpillars, leaving you with a stale, marked-down cupcake that only lasted for a couple of bites. You didn’t bother with candles. They wouldn’t have survived the tears.
Singing happy birthday: strictly forbidden
Scientists believed singing propelled coronavirus particles through the air and banned it. So your birthday was a dreary, tuneless affair, but at least you were obeying the rules not metaphorically giving the NHS the middle finger. Unless you ignored all the guidance as Tory MPs are now saying everyone did, in which case f**k you.