I know, I know: when a friend breaks up with her awful boyfriend you have to wait at least a week or two before you say, "Thank God, he really was an awful d**khead," in case they get back together and then you can never take it back and they get married and the knowledge that you think he's the worst sits between you and your friend for the rest of time, silent and terrible.
I know this. And yet, just a week or so after Maura and Curtis parted ways, I can't help myself. Like the rest of the country, I breathed a sigh of relief when the news broke that our Maura was finally free from whatever dark magic Curtis had cast on her. I feel elated not having to pretend to like Curtis any more. I feel free. I can only imagine how Maura feels. And I know, that when we inevitably become friends one day, she won't hold it against me for jumping the gun on celebrating this parting of ways.
The break-up, as Love Island break-ups are wont to do, is mostly playing out over Instagram captions and entirely unsubstantiated gossip. Maura posted an incredible picture of herself all in white like the angel she is, with the caption, "A strong women [sic] never gives up on herself, but she may give up on you," to which Curtis (indirectly) responded with a family photo and, "The people that always support me..." It's white-knuckle stuff.
They haven't been seen together since the National Television Awards, where they hosted the red carpet. The night apparently ended in a row, with potentially delusional Curtis reportedly claiming that Maura was 'using' him and that she only got the gig because of him. Poor, Curtis - you can't say this of a lot of reality TV alumnae, but Maura's career is just getting started. And now we have her back - the raw, unadulterated, single Maura that we all fell in love with on Love Island. Welcome home, friend: we missed you.
The year is 2011; at the VMA awards, Beyonce gives a spine-tingling rendition of Love on Top. Adele is singing along, the crowd is going wild. Beyonce strides and dances and hair flips across the stage in vertiginous heels, and as the song finishes, Queen Bey drops the microphone and unbuttons her purple sequinned blazer to reveal a baby bump, which she rubs laughing as the crowd goes wild.
In the crowd applauding is Katy Perry: we didn't know it then, but at that moment she was thinking, "I can do that". And sure enough last week Katy Perry attempted something similarly sensational, but not being Beyonce it fell somewhat flat. Perry released the music video for her song Never Worn White, which you would be forgiven for thinking is a poetic metaphor for never having been married - this would be absolutely inaccurate.
Katy Perry is singing that she has literally never worn white (to get married) because when she wed Russell Brand in 2010 she wore a gown of dove grey. So it will indeed be a thrilling novelty to wear white (she sings, wearing white) to marry Orlando Bloom. The video was an answer to the question that absolutely no one was asking: why hasn't there been a wedding since last year's Valentine's proposal? Well, it's because Katy Perry is pregnant, a fact she reveals at the end of the video by cradling her bump in profile, in the traditional celebrity maternity wear of being mostly nude with a net curtain.
The video's whole aesthetic is undeniably also very 2017 floral-Beyonce-pregnant-with-the-twins - which may have been a deliberate homage, a kind of foreshadowing in-joke. But I don't think it was. Poor Katy's news got lost amid global panic about pandemics - so she was back in the (virtual) papers the following day explaining that coronavirus had delayed their 150-person June wedding in Japan. Now there's a hook.
Not that millennials are too moved by the ol' Corona. Though nations are rapidly moving into crisis-mode, one generation has hardly noticed the impending doom. For millennials, it's business as usual: we've been self-isolating for years, having made performative introversion a stand-in for personality.
Millennials' favourite joke is about how we don't like going out, and hate our friends and resent our families and like nothing more than cancelling on people - or, better yet, being cancelled on. Our memes have little else of substance. For a generation of people who complain about having to leave their homes (I suppose we're so thrilled to have homes in the first place), coronavirus is kind of a blessing - a validation of our alternative lifestyle choices. There's nothing millennials love more than an excuse, and the corona is the mother of all excuses.
As a pessimistic people (coming of age into a recession will do that), we're pretty much prepared for the apocalypse anyway. Sure, we thought it would be climate change that did it, but we've seen the dystopian films about pandemics, too, and probably played the board-game at our vegan gatherings ('dinner parties' are for boomers) - we're ready.
And what says 'end of days' more than Kate Middleton in four shades of green clutching a pint while Wills makes jokes about Queen Elizabeth to a crowd gathered at the Guinness Storehouse? Last week, royal coverage reached fever pitch with dystopian headlines ranging from 'How tall are Prince William and Kate Middleton? Facts about couple on Royal Ireland visit 2020' to 'Snipers pictured on roof of Dublin building where Prince William and Kate Middleton set to visit' and 'Supermac's stores in Galway giving free dressed fries to anyone named William or Kate', and of course, 'Prince William jokes that he and Kate are spreading coronavirus' hahahahaha!
Meanwhile, Kate Middleton single-handedly made the coolest brand in the world, The Vampire's Wife, a little bit less cool by wearing it - now the millennials who had been saving up for a year to 'invest' in a one-for-all-the-weddings this summer are furious and running back into the arms of sweet, sweet disposable fast fashion and a different €20 cold-shoulder/balloon sleeve bodycon/prairie dress every weekend. What's the point of environmentalism with corona coming anyway?
At this year's Dancing on Ice launch, among the sea of gilded glittering fringe mini-dresses, with hair so high it was close to God, was a welcome breath of fresh air - that of Longford’s Maura Higgins.