If Boris puts us all under another lockdown and we miss Christmas, our mothers will be the ones rioting. I can see it now. Sprouts shattering windows across London. Frozen turkeys hurled at police horses. The streets flowing red with cranberry sauce.

Basements and wine cellars in some of the posh houses will be converted into Christmas speakeasies where you can invite your grandparents for covert present openings and mince pies with the kids.

The Queen's Speech will be replaced by Chris Whitty's little mottled ham-face telling us that we should all avoid alcohol and pigs in blankets to "save the NHS".

We will have exhausted Netflix, Prime and Disney+; the TV schedulers will also have used up all their good content by Christmas eve, so we'll be forced to watch re-runs of Question Time and Coronation Street.

I'm starting to scare myself.

I can feel Matt Hancock taking notes from this.

Fuck. By that time, every single high-street chain will have shut down and been replaced by those Christmas pop-up shops where you can buy 10kgs of fake snow for £2.

We'll be sitting on piles of tinsel and fake snow, wearing santa suits (because there are no other shops anymore) watching Chris Whitty and Corrie re-runs, slurping tinned soup and giving each other bog rolls as presents because they're now worth more than Tiffany diamonds.

And then, just when we think it can't get more bleak, Boris will appear and tell us all how unhappy he's because he had to buy a sub-standard nanny on his £150k salary and so he's giving all MPs another pay rise.

IT HASN'T EVEN HAPPENED BUT THERE IS NOTHING THERE THAT ISN'T POSSIBLE AT THIS POINT