Hope was on the horizon, but alas it turned out to be the year when things started, stopped, stuttered – and then shuttered.
We probably should have known better. We were starting to really get somewhere, then the virus turned out to be a nifty shape-shifter, like the alien that exploded out of John Hurt’s chest in that film with Sigourney Weaver.
When Scotland’s national clinical director Jason Leitch started turning up on the telly again, I knew that we were in trouble.
Don’t get me wrong, he seems like a lovely man, but he is getting a bit Kate Adie, if you know what I mean?
When the famed BBC journalist turned up at an airport, it usually meant a nation would be going into meltdown before she even cleared the Duty Free shop.
Saw her once very early in the morning at Waverley Station. I quickly glanced up through the roof to make sure the castle was not already a smouldering ruin.
Young Jason is going the same way. When he pops up, I am afraid it is usually to tell us to stay in.
You can’t blame us for being a little bit nervy about the year coming in, but I am going to put my cards on the table and say, that it is going to be OK.
Get those vaccines, people! Even though they have still not acted on my suggestion to give out stickers with every jag.
And sport that mask a little bit longer, folks! You might like to treat yourself to some new funky ones and, also, honestly, they can cover a multitude of sins and you can avoid people you don’t want to talk to.
New drugs to battle Covid are coming on stream, and it even looks like the vicious little alien may have shifted a shape too far and become less dangerous.
Here’s to 2022!