COLUMN: 'Neil Armstrong took less time to prepare for the moon landing...'

So, you can head off out to your local zoo or petting farm with full permission from the men in suits from Monday of this week.

On the journey home – if you are lucky to have either in your county – stopping off to buy that much needed chainsaw or air compressor (no idea?).

Yet, the elusive pair of trainers, haircut, or full body wax, remains but a distant dream. I’ve reached that point where I cannot listen to any more press conferences on anything to do with Covid or the lockdown.

Not a day passes when some Government official announces some trivial piece of useless information about the next phase of the reopening.

It seems to be the sole occupation of the modern parliamentarian “announcing stuff” on a daily basis. I’m certain, dear reader, that you will agree with the view that they should collectively just get on with running the country and when they have something of real significance to announce then do so – until then, just zip it up and get on with your jobs.

A seven-year-old child could read out those Government press releases for as little reward as a few Curly Wurlys.

They are all at it, believe me.

An utterly pointless use of an elected official’s time and a complete waste of taxpayers’ money.

This may or may not be a common spring/summer ritual in the homes of south Tipperary, let me explain, I called in to my mother on Saturday last to cut the grass, I was only in the door when she asked me to help her with...changing the duvet.

She told me not to bother with the grass until the next day, which in hindsight made complete sense. Now, as a male of the species, when I heard the words “change” and “duvet” a quick calculation in my head told me – a five-minute job. No lads, it seems that there is a winter duvet and a summer duvet- who knew?

Neil Armstrong took less time to prepare for the moon landing, believe you me. Firstly, I had to balance on a chair while rummaging around for light sheets, mattress covers, etc.

Then, a summer duvet – see, I’m learning – had to be found and removed from a “special bag”.

Next, bed stripping which was on a par with an entire ward in St Joseph’s Hospital began in earnest.

My mother commented that she was “roasting these last few nights” and why wouldn’t she, under a winter duvet with twenty-five blankets on top.

The bed must have been generating heat equivalent to the size of a small nuclear reactor. Then, the winter duvet was crammed into a box (why? God only knows) and what followed was a spate of mattress turning, mattress and bed frame hoovering and lots of other aspects of the process which are now a blur.

The whole procedure took an hour! My final word on the subject will be to issue a public warning to the men of Clonmel and beyond: if you hear the mention of a “summer duvet” or “light duvet” excuse yourself and run to your nearest petting farm.

My phone gave a chirp and I noticed a text message from my doctor advising me to prepare once again my “vaccination shirt”. I’m due to get my first vaccination on Thursday of this week, so while you sit back having a relaxing read of The Nationalist , I’ll be lining up for my needle.

I’m not in any way squeamish but I’ve crossed paths with a few people since my news who told me such and such a person had an “awful reaction”.

Marvellous, how some people love telling you stories like that when they know you are facing into it. The vast majority experience no side effects apart from a headache or slight temperature.

I’d prefer a slight headache over having to learn to walk again after three months on a Covid ward, thank you very much.