Who is the Daddy: Yet another Covid Christmas

Daughter No.1 came home from her part-time job last week feeling knackered, with a bunged-up nose and a banging headache.

Two positive lateral flows and a PCR test later and her Christmas plans of a night at the Ally Pally watching the darts while staying with her boyfriend’s family in London were in tatters.

We were expecting the worst, but after a couple of days isolating in her room, feeling a bit under the weather, she was right as rain and was so chuffed with her first negative LFT on Christmas Eve she stuck a ribbon on it and hung it on the tree.

Speaking of which, the “nose only” LFTs are quite something, aren’t they? I shoved a swab so far up my right nostril on Christmas Eve it came out with memories of Bryan Robson’s testimonial on it.

We all got Covid for Christmas last year and what a laugh that was. I tested positive on the same day as mum who, thanks to Covid restrictions imposed and then cheerfully ignored by Boris Johnson and his cronies, we hadn’t been allowed to see for months. We all got better in our house quite quickly. Mum didn’t, she died in a care home a few weeks later after catching Covid in a hospital with the mortality rate of a death camp.

Anyway, me, the boss and daughter No.2 opened our Made In China (oh the irony) LFT selection boxes every day over Christmas and tested negative each time.

This might come back to sink its teeth into my behind, but from our triple-jabbed ivory tower it feels like the Omicron panic is a teensy overreaction.

And if things do go south between writing this and it going to press, tell your guests at your NYE party to wear suits and only serve them cheese and wine, so if Lily Law come hammering on your door, pull a haughty, self-entitled face and tell them it’s a business meeting. Did the trick at No.10.