I approached Christmas Day, as I imagine many New Statesman readers did, with my eyes smarting from a swab up my nose, and an imaginary two-metre force field around my 89-year-old Nana.
- Anoosh Chakelian
It was a jollier, better-attended celebration than the inaugural St Scrooge’s Day of 2020, but the build-up was laden with doom.
Not only did the memory of the previous year’s 11th-hour lockdown weigh heavy, but warnings of a Brexit/Covid mix of supply-chain bottlenecks, rising prices and food shortages “cancelling Christmas” haunted the headlines.
As a rush on…