GAIL WALKER
1 Never to hear the words “The Great Reset” ever again. Honestly, bad as this pandemic is, I still can’t see Health Minister Robin Swann being taken by shadowy figures to the secret villain’s lair at the centre of the Earth’s core to get his orders on helping to implement One World Government.
2 Never to hear another “buzzword” involving a clunky play on “exit”. Brexit. Megxit. Irexit. Urexit. Werexit. Theyrexit. Enoughxit!
3 While we’re at it, let’s also never hear the words “wet bar” again. Was there ever a phrase more likely to turn you into a lifelong Pioneer?
4 “Hello... HELLO!... I can’t hear you... I said I CAN’T HEAR YOU... hello?” A break from Zoom. All those spookily up-lit faces. People incapable of setting their cameras at eye level, instead broadcasting footage of the inside of their nostrils and their ceiling lights, as if the rest of us are in the dentist’s chair. People not sure if someone has finished talking. Everyone doing their default “grave” expression as if at a COBRA meeting. And of course making a mental note to never say anything when the meeting is finished for fear somebody might hear your real opinion. No. Stay quiet. Then turn the whole computer off and then on again. It’s the only safe way.
5 For someone to invent a mute button for real-life situations. Preferably a remote control one that can work on other people.
6 For TV reporters to continue working from home where possible. The endless rubbernecking fun of working out where they lived and critiquing their home interiors was a highlight of the first lockdown — and made the news far more interesting than when they reported “on location” from Bedford Street. “Everything’s from Ikea!” “That’s not a kitchen that gets much use!” “Yer man’s no gardener!” “That backdrop is definitely somewhere in South Down...” By subsequent lockdowns, of course, the scenery had been refined to resemble something from the backlots of MGM — goodbye flakey paintwork on doorframes, venetian blinds that didn’t quite reach the sill, the feature wall of magenta and marigold, hello the Belleek vase, the strategic potted plant, the tasteful watercolour, the family portrait...
7 So keen were our rulers here to pretend everything was Just Dead On, despite the virus, that football fans were allowed to go to matches! By late summer, that was unique to Northern Ireland, as international matches were played before empty seats worldwide. Before getting in to Windsor Park though they were sprayed with disinfectant — like a spray tan with your clothes on. That was also unique to Ulster. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could devise a spray that would eradicate sectarianism? Fit it to the doors of Stormont, for example; maybe on the seats of a few council chambers also. Mind you, you’d need reservoirs of the liquid. One squirt wouldn’t be enough — you’d need repeated applications, like Preparation Haitch. Or is that Aitch?
8 Admittedly it was one of the more unnerving moments of the pandemic — when a buckling NHS was being saved by a centenarian doing fundraising laps of his garden in high summer. But the tremendously inspiring efforts of Captain Sir Tom Moore were also a reminder of the great contribution our older generation continue to make to society. In 2021 let’s demand more respect towards elderly folk from those who have spent the past year sneering that “Covid only kills old people”. They’re people’s loved ones, not cannon fodder.
9 Better politicians. Sometimes the only social distancing they seem to do is with reality. Take the Bobby Storey funeral. At the same time as the Executive was issuing Covid restrictions demanding minimum numbers of mourners at funerals, senior Sinn Fein members including deputy First Minister Michelle O’neill joined thousands to bid farewell to the veteran IRA man, turning his send-off into a public spectacle. A huge miscalculation by Sinn Fein and one the party keeps struggling to handle.
10 But let’s not just criticise SF. Our political class has made brinkmanship a ghastly art form — real-life chess with real death casualties. The restoration of Stormont last January allowed the local administration to get away largely unscrutinised over the course of the pandemic — Westminster and Dublin just grateful to see the institutions at work. With public health subject to nigh on endless negotiations and last minute compromises, no wonder many of us have fondly looked back to the simple days of direct rule.
11 If we are still going to have masks in 2021, let’s please have Sammy Wilson ones. With accompanying T-shirts proclaiming his favourite slogans. “Yes to Brexit” then “Er... actually No to Brexit”, “Yes to Restrictions For You” and “...But Not For Me”. Plus instructions issued on how to wear a mask on public transport. 1 Secure elastic bits around ears. 2 Pull fabric over nose. 3 Got that, Sammy?
12 And for all of us little people who have been obediently wearing masks, less mask one-upmanship please. “Yes, it’s a four ply satin weave. Plus there’s a tiny little solar powered extractor fan to prevent glasses steam-up. You can also listen to 10 pre-set digital radio stations... ”
13 Our own Personality Awards. Let’s get the message for once. People from here are never going to be accorded anything like the same recognition in the UK as a whole, as an English sportsperson is, no matter how dull, pedestrian, privileged or ridiculous the latter may be. After all, this is the nation that once voted Kevin Keegan as a better footballer than George Best. So, for Jonathan Rea, Darren Clarke, Rory Mcilroy et al, let’s make our own importance and just boycott that self-important contest based on the ever-diminishing number of sports covered by Auntie. Why not? We could all do with a night out when the time is right — and the Odyssey or Waterfront would be a great venue. Plenty of jockeys, darts, golfers, swimmers, Paralympians, snooker, boxers, football of all codes... Sounds good to me already.
14 With the BBC demanding £157.50 from over-75s for a licence fee to pay their eye-watering salaries perhaps they could cut out even just some of the repeats and “best of ” programmes. Let’s face it, if you’re in your late 70s or beyond, you have now seen those “favourite” shows many, many, many times.
15 Less cancel culture. In fact, let’s cancel it. “I disapprove of what you say and will fight to the death for my right to censor it,” doesn’t exactly have the same moral gravitas, does it?
16 Since we obviously don’t want to pay them properly, or accord them proper respect most of the time, or even be polite when they don’t jump to our instructions, or when they attend to people more needy than we are, at least let’s have an annual celebration day for key workers. Just for one day the bosses can don the aprons and get stuck in to the office loos.
17 That we all make best use of the phrase “The Science”. In the past year, this often proved a handy catch-all excuse to separate politicians from the bad news they had to deliver. Maybe in 2021 we can all adapt it when bad news has to be delivered. “I would love to return the lawnmower I borrowed two years ago but The Science... ” “I’d like to have that report on your desk in the morning but The Science... ” “The Science ate my homework” isn’t quite as plausible as the dog... and let’s not even go to The Science that says Masks Are Useless to Masks Are Compulsory... The Science is always right... isn’t it?
18 Give all victims of the Troubles pensions immediately. Surely that’s an easy one?
And while we’re at it, let’s give all combatants a medal — the only proviso being they step forward to own their role. Tell us what they did to whom and how. No one is going to jail, after all, and the by-product would be closure for combatants and bereaved alike.
19 Actually, back to the licence fee, why doesn’t Stormont simply pay that fee on behalf of all our pensioners, who have spent most of their lives living in the most dysfunctional state in western Europe, in a condition of permanent anxiety? Northern Ireland isn’t Birmingham or Galway or Devon, folks. Free TV won’t compensate anyone for having missed out on a normal life.
20 Twinkly lights. Even though many of us put our Christmas decorations up much earlier and they should be down by Twelfth night, can Stormont enact the Twinkly Lights Act (2021) whereby sparkly chains must continue to hang in windows bringing cheer and little sparks of hope to what look set to be a bleak few months?