It's been the biggest week for Irish millennials since Samantha Mumba got to number one, with the entire series of Normal People dropping to universal acclaim - and never has there been so much visibility for our kind, so much dialogue and patience.
On the worldwide stage, there's never been a hotter moment to be an Irish millennial. There had been concerns about making a 12-episode adaptation of one not-particularly-long novel in which not very much happens, but in these long Corona-days where time stretches and warps, Normal People's extreme length feel right.
This opposite-of-melodrama meandering plot reflects the Corona state of mind, where every mundane action (going to the supermarket, washing your hands) and every conversation feels momentous and meaningful. The show seems to have all the time in the world - but then, with nowhere to go and nowhere to be, so do many of its viewers.
There's tinkling piano music and everything is fine and the world is right and our couple is in love; then a diminished chord and a conversation which goes wrong and they're apart and miserable before the piano music starts up again and they're back riding. What might otherwise feel repetitive and drawn out is rendered soothing, a lulling cycle of beautiful people snogging and thinking in gorgeous light. It's the antidote to Tiger King - and anyway, we know where to go for a relentless assault of ever-more-horrifying storytelling
If Tiger King represented the first, frantic, adrenaline-fuelled days of quarantine, with its relentless assault of ever-more-horrifying storytelling to absorb and distract, then Normal People is its antidote. Over a month into lockdown, the public mood has shifted, we're brooding and listless. Millennial couples bingeing on Normal People at home in lockdown is essentially a Sally Rooney novel itself.
It's a great opportunity for an old-fashioned game of Millennial Bingo: there's enthusiastic consent, men not being grossed-out by periods, and the colour yellow. There's discussions of privilege, intersectionality, and no-platforming Neo-Nazis (the latter is something we're all missing in lockdown). There's a great fringe.
But there's plenty here for Irish viewers of all ages - property porn, sheets blowing on the washing line porn, the lovely big Maynooth head on Paul Mescal porn and Irish mothers holding their sons accountable.
It's made a big splash in America too. It was about time they had an update on how Ireland's getting on since Angela's Ashes. It's as well they know that we're publicly horny now.
A lot of them are baffled about why Mescal's character Connell doesn't just say what he's thinking, it seems to be a big plot hole for them - who's going to tell them about the Irish crisis of masculinity? I don't have it in me.
But really, are the men okay? It just feels like they might be losing it: Idris Elba trying to get public support for an annual lockdown commemoration; Gordon Ramsay relentlessly trolling the entire county of Cornwall; that footballer who organised a small orgy in his house last week before imploring fans to stay home; the Mayo man who set up an Iron Man course in his garden...
Of course, there's Richard E Grant and his large garden statue of Barbra Streisand's face, sustaining him in this strange time. (I don't actually have a problem with Richard E Grant's large garden statue of Barbra Streisand's face. I just like to mention it periodically.)
I know we all have our coping mechanisms, but do men know about jigsaws? Do they know about picking up the phone and calling a pal? Do they know about that bit behind the washing machine drawer that needs cleaning? At least there's Tom Hanks. Sweet Tom Hanks and his donated bag of blood plasma for corona-research. We'll always have Tom Hanks.
And so from one cultural icon to another - Gemma Collins: Diva on Lockdown kicked off last week, a balm for those missing the warm, perfumed arms of hun-culture in quarantine.
It's disorienting watching the opening 10 minutes, in which coronavirus seems an historical event that requires contextualising with news clips and headline cuttings. But this is a time to appreciate the small things - like Gemma Collins talking about Prince 'Chiles' and her desire to be an 'ambasnador' for the royals. No better woman.
Her reality series pivoting from a full production crew to a few cameras stuck on Gemma's quarantined walls is the kind of inspirational flexibility that might save us all. Channel 4 understands - they've announced a series that will be literally filmed by dogs. But even that won't touch the intoxicating absurdity of The Rose of Tralee, cancelled for the first time ever - and with Love Island all but ruled out, we're going to need all the mad content we can get.
We'll have to open our minds and reassess our boundaries around what is and is not acceptable to watch. I don't want Gigi Hadid's pregnancy to be my main source of entertainment in the coming months. But, by God, I'll do it if I have to. We're all in this together.