Jonny McCambridge: My news review of 2020: Coronavirus, royal ructions and nits

I wonder what the big deal is in that I have been financially independent for years; except for the final week before pay day when I have to borrow money from my wife to pay my credit card bill and bank loan.

I place a story in the paper about a Chinese city called Wuhan being locked down to control the spread of a new virus.

‘That’s the last we’ll ever hear about that,’ I mumble knowingly.

FEBRUARY: The first full month where the Northern Ireland Assembly is functional in more than three years. MLAs return to Stormont from their extended hiatus just in time for business to be suspended because of the spread of Covid.

But it is another contagious menace which affects me this month. An outbreak of nits is reported in my son’s class. I search his hair and confidently declare to my wife that he is nit free. She does a more thorough probe and discovers he does have them. Then she examines my head. I have them too.

MARCH: The UK enters full lockdown. My kitchen table is rapidly repurposed as an office space.

My dreams of being able to go through a full working day wearing only my pyjamas is dashed when the editor introduces daily video calls. As a compromise I wear a shirt and tie for conferences, while keeping my pyjama trousers on under the table.

APRIL: The Queen makes a televised address to the nation where she states ‘We will meet again’.

It is a fine sentiment, but in truth I am becoming rather attached to the kitchen table, enamoured by its close proximity to the fridge and the sweetie drawer.

After weeks of no exercise other than ruthlessly demolishing endless packets of Jaffa Cakes, I discover that I am no longer able to touch my toes.

MAY: In this month the Prime Minister’s chief advisor Dominic Cummings admits that he travelled from London to Durham during lockdown and then drove to Barnard Castle to test his eyesight.

Of more pressing concern to me is the fact that panic buying leads to shortages of some goods in supermarkets.

I feel betrayed by my cultural references in that I have watched countless apocalyptic Hollywood movies, but none has ever mentioned anything about not being able to get luxury soft quilted toilet paper.

JUNE: Speculation emerges of a secret deal which led to the restoration of the power-sharing Executive. It is suggested that to get politicians back to work they were told that if they could survive six months without falling out then each party would be presented with a teddy bear with the words ‘We’re best pals’ stitched onto it.

Just days before the prize is due to be claimed a major political crisis is sparked by the attendance of senior Sinn Fein members at a republican funeral. The future of the institutions is again thrown into doubt.

A senior Stormont source tells this paper: ‘We were so close.’

JULY: Thoughts turn to holidays.

My hopes of a Mediterranean vacation in the sun have long been extinguished. Instead a cottage is rented on the north Antrim coast.

On the rainy night before we leave I try to rouse some excitement from my son as I tuck him into bed. I tell him of the geological wonders of the Giant’s Causeway, the stunning scenery at Carrick-a-Rede rope-bridge and of the eerie grey elegance of the Dark Hedges.

As I leave the room I hear him mumbling: ‘It’s hardly Ibiza, is it?’

AUGUST: A level results are published and then amended after multiple grades are controversially lowered following the use of an algorithm. Teaching unions and parents complain about the transparency behind this algorithm.

This is also the month where I finally learn how to spell the word algorithm.

SEPTEMBER: My son returns to school. A new uniform and shoes have to be purchased because all his previous garments are now too small.

‘He just flipping well won’t stop growing,’ I remark bitterly to my wife.

I meet him at the school gates at the end of his first day of proper education in six months. As we walk back to the car he says wearily: ‘I think I’m ready for a holiday now daddy.’

OCTOBER: Halloween is a subdued affair. Trick or treating inside our own house lacks the tension of the traditional version. I try to captivate my son by telling ghost stories in bed but give up when I realise he’s playing his iPad under the covers.

This is also the month where, after months of binge watching, I finally exhaust all viewing options on Netflix and Amazon Prime. Reluctantly I return to terrestrial TV where I am shocked to discover that, in my absence, Emmerdale Farm has changed its name to Emmerdale.

NOVEMBER: I become engrossed in the US presidential election. After days of tension Joe Biden is finally declared the winner. But Donald Trump simply refuses to accept the obvious.

I am familiar with this denial tactic, encountering it with my son on a daily basis when it is time for bed or when I try to persuade him to eat vegetables.

DECEMBER: I am forced to do most of my Christmas shopping online for the first time.

I make some startling realisations.

Firstly, everything bought online ends up being significantly smaller than expected when it arrives. The telescope which I imagined would allow me to gaze to the outer edges of the solar system is the size of my thumb and I can’t see any further than the bottom of the garden.

Secondly, it is just too easy to buy things online. My wife has put her foot down and insisted that the Yodelling Pickle and the Chicken Nugget Soap are going back to Amazon.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE.

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