I wonder will mammies and daddies be leaving hand gel out for Santa as he delivers presents for their children this Christmas.
He stopped coming to me a few years ago. But I still manage to enjoy Christmas.
Up to a couple of years ago, it meant drinks in various friends’ homes, a good long lunch hosted by a friend who established, and has now revived, the Jingle Balls Club and then, closer to the big day, drinks in our own home for maybe 20 friends.
All those events are, at least for the moment, alive only in my memory.
I’m in what is probably the highest risk category of all: COPD stage four, a growth on my lung, immunocompromised and, generally speaking, marginally more healthy than the residents of Glasnevin Cemetery.
What optimism I have in relation to socialising is fast disappearing. I thought by now the world, and Ireland, would have this pandemic under control.
But the sad truth is, it’s anything but.
Of course, we all want to get back to what we now call “normal”.
But I have to repeat what I said nine months ago. That’s what the people of London back in 1941 wanted too. But normality of a sort only came to them four years later when their enemy, Nazi Germany, was defeated.
Our enemy is not defeated and is mutating from time to time as we get close to wiping it out.
Yes of course we need to get back to normal as soon as possible. Our economy needs it. Our mental health needs it. Our young people need to be able to live “normal” lives.
Quite simply, we can’t live with restrictions forever.
The constant horror stories are creating fear that, well, actually might just help bring this thing to an end sooner rather than later.
I think what now appears to be misplaced optimism somehow dissolved the fear that, at least for a while, kept most of us on our best behaviour, looking out for ourselves and for each other.
But nine months or so of being told we are “getting on top of it” and “we’re making progress” has resulted in the kind of confidence that is helping to drive up the figures.
Selfishly, the sad fact is that I am not alone being among the vulnerable. There are hundreds of thousands of us all over the country who have chronic respiratory conditions, who are immunocompromised, who are undergoing or have recently undergone chemotherapy. There’s a long list of conditions and treatments that make people of all ages vulnerable, not just us old wrinklies. Normality is a long way for them, that is to say us.
We can stay locked up. I’m staying locked up. And I suppose if I do, I’m relatively safe, though what visitors to the house might bring with them – despite my keeping well away from them – I don’t know and can’t control.