Zooming into Christmas

Any excuse to post
THE BEST MUSIC VIDEO EVER.

We've finally done it. We've had the conversation. The Bond family has tackled the thorny problem of Christmas. It wasn't too tricky in the end. The 'rule of three households' is pointless for an eight household shebang. Besides, having five days off virus-watch is stupid, and would mean old(ish) parents, front-line pharmacists, and school attendees mixing it up in a confined space. Forget CV, think of the nits! There's been a variety of chats, WhatsApp convos, and waiting for someone else to make a decision, but it's done. We're staying put. There will be no Bond convoy up the M6 this year, no Welsh visitors bothering the local Premier Inn, no crying babies early doors on the 27th. The eight households are sticking to their own parts of the country with the promise of a mofo Zoom chat on Boxing Day.*

Boxing Day will be exactly like this
but with tinsel.

I imagine this is similar for lots of people. The Zoom meeting, that is. When families can't be together on a special day, it makes sense to do it virtually. Indeed, many of us have been doing that regularly since March. It does put a lot of pressure on Zoom though. Thinking of my own family Zooms, they've recently dipped in quality. Their regular slot of a Sunday evening was ditched once the Strictly results show kicked in. Then we tried Friday at 6pm for a couple of weeks, but that appeared to when the niece and nephew hit Peak-Giddy. There was a lot of hysterical laughter and shrieking. And that was just me. Ba-dum tish. Anyway, a meaningful Christmas Zoom, that will replace the heart-warming glow of spending the best part of two days with each other, will be doing some heavy lifting. It might be worth planning ahead. Leaving it to chance would be a big risk. Especially if everyone's on a sugar high. (And by everyone I mean the niece, the nephew, and my thirty-five year old brother.) It's less than four weeks until the festive peak. Time to plan. Here, if you are interested, are some ideas for a titivated, elevated, Christmassy Zoom.

1. Quiz.

I know, I know. You're bored to death with quizzes. Quizzes are so first lockdown. Everyone hates a Zoom quiz, amiright? Well, maybe. But the joy of a quiz is that it's versatile. Sick of general knowledge? Ditch it. Write a round of questions about Christmas. Sick of Christmas? Ditch it. Write a round of questions about family holidays. Sick of family holidays? Ditch it. Write a round of... you get the gist, yeah? A quiz is what you make it. So make it.

Unlimited joy. Honest.

2. Scattergories

This is where the share screen button comes into its own. Simply click this link, and you'll be taken to an interactive Scattergories game. Everyone needs a pen and paper, you set the timer to whatever you want, and press start. Unlimited joy for hours. Or something. 

A completed wall. The trick is to 
find the four connections within
three minutes. Solid.

3. Only 

Connect 

If you've never watched the show, it doesn't matter. It's about finding connections in seemingly unrelated groups of things. I like making my own questions but there are online links to games too. Click here for examples of the connecting wall. These could be shared over Zoom, no mess. Or make your own family-based missing vowel round. Example. The category is FAMILY HOLIDAYS. Shout when you know it.

frnc

fly

cm brnc st

hlf x

Now, bearing in mind you've probably no idea where my family has holidayed over the years, did you get any? If you shouted France, Filey, Cambrian Coast, or Halifax at your screen, then we must be related. But do you get the gist? Think of some family-friendly categories, take out the vowels, and share the screen. A good time will be had by all.

Because I never delete anything
I've found some of the 'truths
and lies' from back then. 
AMUSING.

4. WILTY

This one takes commitment. Trust me, I know. Several years ago, when I had time on my hands, I organised a family Would I Lie To You evening. Prior to the day, all attendees provided me with a fact about themselves that no one else would know. I typed it onto a card then did the same with a lie about each person too. On the night, each player took a turn to read one of the cards about themselves, pretending they were telling the truth. In fact, there was a 50/50 chance they were not. The rest of the gang had to guess if it was true. Now look, I'll be honest. Just typing that has broken me out into a sweat. It was a lot of work, mostly having to think of plausible, funny, entertaining lies for everyone, that they could attempt to sell under pressure. I was only reminded of it the other day when my little brother suggested I repeat the experience. (I said I was busy, although he did provide inspiration for this post. Helpful.) But this is 2020. Some of us have excessive time on our hands. Organising a Christmas WILTY Zoom might be exactly what you need to fill your days. It could be ideal. And if I remember rightly, it was a drunken night of laughter. Or maybe that was just me when it was over. Who can say.

So there's four ideas for you. Take them as they are, or use them as a jumping off point for your own Zoom madness. The final word on the matter is wine. If you abstain, crack on and continue to do so. Fair play to you. But if you consider yourself either a light, sporadic, or habitual drinker, I can only advise you to crack open something strong. It will make whatever online, festive nonsense you find yourself in, all the merrier. Trust me.

Have a lovely week, folks.

 

*I've said it before, but I'll repeat. Boxing Day is THE day in my family. Christmas Day is merely the warm up. Not seeing anyone on Christmas Day is going to be lovely. PJs all day, cheese, red wine, chocolate, and films. I can't wait. It's Boxing Day that's going to take a mental oomph to fill. I will mange gamely, but that's the big one. That'll be the Zoom day.

The Trellis of Fact and Fiction...

I've been watching The Crown. Again. Netflix dropped the fourth series last week just it time for me to binge it in my PJs. It's always been a cracking show (IMHO...other opinions are valid...blah blah blah) but now that the action has reached my lifetime, I'm finding it especially fascinating. Seeing news footage that I remember, reenacted realistically, is boss. Whether it's Diana being papped as a nineteen year old, Charles looking like Charles, or Thatcher leaving office, watching my youthful memories on screen has been gripping. 

But it's different this time. Think back to the very first series from 2016. The opening scene was George VI coughing blood into a sink. I do not remember this - a) because it takes place in 1947, and b) because I've never been to the loo with George VI - and yet I was happy to take is as gospel. I had no other frame of reference. This series of The Crown, charting 1979-1990, means I'm less inclined to do that. I know it's a dramatic retelling without being reminded. It's obvious from the start it's a fictionalised account of events. It's different this time.

This is George VI, right?

A quick disclaimer before we crack on. When I say I was happy to take The Crown's events depicted before my birth as gospel, I'm being a bit of a fibber. I'm not daft. It just took more effort to remind myself when I watched. The fact that Peter Morgan, a screenwriter of drama, is at the helm, means a discerning eye must be applied on the factual accuracy. But that matters not. Come November, especially November 2020, a well-put-together, part social commentary, part soap opera, and part period piece, ticks a lot of boxes. Keep them coming I say. Bring on series five!

This is at the top of The Times
article, linked here.

The reimagining of actual events does seem to annoy some people, though. Every time The Crown drops, The Times dutifully shares an article by royal biographer, Hugo Vickers. He then proceeds to list the historical inaccuracies. (It's uncanny. He manages to be a worthy historian and party pooper in the same breath.) The link is behind a paywall, but if you can't see it, here's a paraphrased summary. Some things didn't happen because the evidence says they did not. Some things didn't happen because Hugo Vickers says they did not. Some things happened, but not in the way they were shown. Fair play to the guy. It must be difficult to see your area of expertise depicted more creatively than factually. When facts are your thing, that is. Conversely, when it comes to story-telling, poetic license is an essential part of the fun. I'll leave the royalists to their hissy fits. In a dramatic reconstruction, with many behind-closed-doors conversations, unknown, we can only guess at their content. So let's guess if we like. I'm fine with it.

I did my best. A search for 'trellis' in
my GIF finder came up blank. This is
as good as it gets. Happily for you,
the written description of my simile is
nearby.

As usual, everything comes back to me. How could it not? Watching The Crown makes me think about my own dramatic storytelling. In Assembling the Wingpeople, I've included several topics where I've had to fudge the facts. Research can only take you so far. Divorce, parental bereavement and menopause are issues that affect or have affected people I know, but not me. Not yet anyway. The facts only provide a framework. Like a garden trellis. The wooden frame is the factual content and the entwined roses are the pretty fabrications. I have to add the roses for it to look good. I have to make shit up to fill the gaps. I can only hope it all blends together nicely, and an authentic story is the result.

It's never that simple in real life, of course. I spent last week beefing up a character that's originally from Jamaica. I'm doing all sorts of research, even though the woman appears only briefly. Sometimes gussying up the facts with a bit of fiction is an author's right. Other times it's cultural appropriation and does a disservice to an entire community. The line is fine, and difficult to see at times. At the very least, I have to remember it is there.

In the end, it's about intention and effort. I mean well and I'm trying my best. Isn't that all anyone can do? It's certainly a start in the right direction. When Assembling the Wingpeople eventually comes out, perhaps I need Hugo Vickers to fact check it, and then serialise his findings in The Times. Just to keep things above board. Something to think about as we crack on with our days.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Good News is Assembling...

So it looks like I'm some sort of influencer now. Yep. That's what I said. What's that? Am I try to sell you lifestyle must-haves through the medium of my socials? Well, no. Not really. Please feel free to copy my scruffy-chic-with-not-much-chic style any time you like. You're welcome. But that's not what I'm talking about. It appears I'm able to influence world events. Honestly. It's been a surprise to me too.

Two weeks ago I wrote about how I'd searched for good news and struggled to come up with anything. I focused on celebrating Marcus Rashford, and his food poverty campaign instead. It was the only thing I could find, and even that came out of the bad news of a government ignoring hungry kids on their watch. Well now. Since then, look what's happened. The fates have stepped in! My existential cries have been answered! Since then we've had a government u-turn on their 'starving hungry kids' policy, an elected Biden-Harris team that means actual politicians and grown-ups in the Whitehouse, a vaccine for Covid is on its way, and I've put my deccies up. Sing hosannas, praise the Lord, insert your own joyful ejaculations here.*

The salad drawer of dreams.
Carrots from last week? Fresh as
morning dew. Herbs from mid-October?
As if just picked from the plant. 

Clearly all I have to do is moan for stuff to change. Who knew? And whilst there should still be a healthy dose of reality thrown in - the looming Brexit, the current president's 'I'm not going' temper tantrum, and the logistical storage issues for the covid vaccine, (not even my extremely cold salad drawer, that gives lettuce an extra week, will manage this one) - it's fair to say, it's a nice feeling to celebrate the wins. Yes, there's still bad shit going down, but we're parking it way over there for now. Can you still see it? Well you've not parked it far enough. This week, we can focus on the moments of actual hope that have been thrown at us. When I decided to do my Christmas decs last week, it was to lift my mood. Now it's to celebrate feeling something other than nauseating horror. 

We're talking about the
sequel to this bad boy.

But let's crack on. While we're in such hopeful, upbeat frames of mind, here's a book update. Yes, I know. It's been...ooooh, all of five minutes since the last one. But things are moving on. Most importantly, I have a - drum roll please - title!

I've floated it past several people. Some have liked it, some have been unsure. I've given the unsure opinions lots of consideration, and I am grateful for their feedback, but I've decided I'm sticking with it. It ticks all my boxes. Here, for those who may care, are my boxes.

• It should have three words, with the middle word 'the'. This apes the prequel, Carry the Beautiful.
• It should be a little bit confusing/mysterious/unclear so as to prompt a second look. I accept that this is a gamble and could also put people off.
• It should summarise the themes of the book - isolation v connection, coping with change, and being proactive in one's own life. 
• It should stand out.

Ok then. Ready yourself for the second drum roll of the post... Go on Bing, you can do this one for me... pa rum pa pum pum...thanks Bing... the title is... 

ASSEMBLING THE WINGPEOPLE.

Yep, there we go. It's Assembling the Wingpeople. Tilda is lonely and needs mates. Bea is peri-menopausal and making rash decisions. Stewart has shaken off his workaholic ways but is still spiralling into self-destruction. They all need the support of friends in their increasingly isolated lives. They need to assemble their wingpeople. 

So commit this to your memory. Look out for when I start to full-on lose my dignity and bombard all social media avenues with PRE-ORDER THIS BOOK. It won't be for months yet, but at least you're in the know. Assembling the Wingpeople. You heard it here first. And now I'm going to check my salad drawer again - you never know, it could help - and switch on all my fairy lights. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

*There are other news items of course, that have filled me with glee and made the world seem a better place. YOU KNOW THE NEWS STORY I MEAN? YES? But as the glee is really schadenfreude, and there's a question over that particular guy's sacking, I'm not including it in my official list. Considering his photo shoot with a 'just lost my job box' that accompanied him out of the front door, of a government building that has several discrete exits, I'd say the jury's still out on whether this counts as good news or not. Time will tell.

Time to Remove the CNN Drip...

There was a point on Thursday afternoon, after two days of watching election coverage, when I suddenly remembered it was Bommy Night. It didn't matter that I'd forgotten, but it surprised me that we'd got well into the 5th before I realised. Some time after that, it dawned on me that I'd missed the start of lockdown too. 

My hazy grasp of time was my own fault. Mine and America's. I stayed up on the 3rd, powering through on adrenaline and anxiety until midnight on the 4th. Eight hours sleep later and I was back. CNN had me gripped once more. John King - a stateside Peter Snow, with his magic wall of data - was utterly compelling. I don't know if CNN were doing things particularly well, or if my usual choice of political coverage is really bad, but the difference was stark. Clear, calm, and data-led. No contrarian commentators earning a fee with unchallenged nonsense. No distraction or sideshow regardless of the external noise being made. 

Once their coverage started, opinion didn't matter. It was about votes, numbers, and the law. When, around dawn on Wednesday UK time,  T***p said the election was being stolen, the presenters dismissed it immediately. Whilst pointing out the unprecedented nature of a sitting president crying foul, they were quick to explain there was no legal basis for his complaints. When the president made his second speech, around midnight UK time on Thursday, their condemnation of his lies and delusion was unequivocal. And then it was back to the data. Back to the things that mattered. I was grateful for their clarity. 

Having said that, it's only now I've caught up on some sleep and know the happy outcome, that I can fully reflect on the coverage. At the start, I was grappling with the emotional roller coaster I had inadvertently boarded. I'll be honest, drinking a pot of filter coffee on Tuesday evening - my first since 2014 - had mixed results. On the upside, it kept me awake. I was wired and alert, with no worries about dozing off. On the downside, I was wired and alert. My heart pounded and my stomach churned. I only realised it was probably the coffee after half an hour of deep breathing my way through a self-diagnosed anxiety attack. Around 3am Wednesday morning, when the map seemed overwhelmingly red, I had a little cry. I don't think I'll bother with coffee again. 

Calm heads carried me though and kept me going. Not my own head, obviously, but the CNN presenters and journalists. From the start, and at regular intervals, they urged caution. From the generic, 'it's too soon to draw conclusions,' to the more specific, 'mail-in votes will be counted after day-of votes and will likely favour the Democrats which is why we're seeing more red early on.' It was a steady reminder to wait. Wait and see. 

Once I got used to the speed of John King's data, and the repetition of results framed as Key Race Alerts every few minutes, I settled into the rhythm. Not once did I get a flashback of Dimbleby filling. Not once was I reminded of senior UK journalists allowing a load of bollocks be broadcast without refuting it with facts. CNN's coverage became reassuring. Slow and steady, calm and accurate. When, on Saturday afternoon, the race was finally called, Arizona was still being counted, whole days after Fox News had presumptuously called it. It was the political version of the tortoise and the hare. Slow and steady wins the race. Slow and steady ensures the correct results are broadcast at the right time. 

Tomorrow it's a week since the polls closed. I've breathed multiple sighs of relief and I reckon it's time to switch off the rolling news. Why did I care so much? It's a fair question to pose. Why was I unable to look away, managing only a few hours sleep in a four-day period? I've changed planes in Georgia a few times and been to Nevada and Arizona once or twice. Is that what it takes to get me invested in a state count? Or was it that I needed a distraction from lockdown news and EU negotiations? It's true to say I didn't think about coronavirus once during my news fest. Was that why I cared?

My timeline was of one mind.

It was way more than that, of course. For four years, a racist, misogynistic, homophobic and transphobic man, with a slew of sexual assault allegations to his name, has been on the news, on the Internet, and in power. Stomaching lies and inaccuracies spouted by your dodgy boss in a meeting is bad enough. To have that experience enlarged on the world stage has been, at times, unbearable. I was determined to witness him lose the presidency. I needed closure on this particular period of history. And if I feel like that - as a UK citizen - I can't begin to imagine how difficult it must have been to live in the US. My continued viewing was a sort of solidarity, I guess. The journalist, Hadley Freeman, wrote that if Biden lost, she would have to explain to her kids that 'sometimes the bad guys finish first'. It's counter-intuitive to everything we teach children. That's not the only reason Biden should have won, but it showed the simplicity of the situation.

It seems my Been Awake
For Forty Hours face is
 exactly the same as
my Pissed As A Fart
face. Good to know.

But now there's hope. On Friday morning CNN anchor, Chris Cuomo said, 'The days of giving a fair hearing to an unfair statement are over.' He had begun to read out a tweet by T***p but didn't finish. Oh, how I hope that message is heard by UK broadcasters. No more airtime for F****e and his ravings. No more climate change deniers offering 'balance' to scientific fact. How I long to watch a UK election special with data-driven coverage and a clear dismissal of untruths. It can't be too much to ask, can it?  

2020's good news.

For now, I'm in a much better place than I was last week. My jaw is unclenching. The constant knot in my stomach is smaller. It seems that the bad guy hasn't won - subject to legal challenges etc etc, blah, blah blah. And then there's the history-making Vice-President Elect. Kamala Harris - who I've written about before - is the first woman, and first Black, and first South Asian person to hold the office. What an achievement! It was easy to overlook that whilst the counting dragged on. We need more than a moment to recognise it, and celebrate the genuine good news that's managed to sneak past 2020's strict door-policy. 

But hey, let's keep it real. There's still Coronavirus, the lockdown continues to be a necessary pain, and the weirdness of Christmas is still an issue. Let's not lose sight of reality. What are we, optimists? Ha. As if! But just for once, the bad thing didn't happen. 2020 threw us a bone. Stability and sanity might return to global politics. It could even spread over here! Let's not get too carried away though. For now, that's still a dream. And on that note, I'm going to have a bit more sleep. Na'night.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Desperately Seeking Good News...

I'm having that love/hate relationship with the news again. Last Thursday I found myself simultaneously glued to and repelled by the constant headlines that pinged onto my phone. That particular day's news included the horrific story of the killings in Nice, the release of the EHRC's report into the Labour Party, Bobby Ball's death, and then Jeremy Corbyn's suspension. All that was before I'd had my lunch. I found myself tweeting Too. Much. News. from my gut. It was visceral. I couldn't keep up.

A simpler time?

Since then I continue to be drawn into some news stories whilst recognising rabbit holes to avoid with others. It's become a dance. Clicking the comments under an opinion with which I agree, regularly proves reckless. Gingerly dipping my toe into the comments under an article, invariably means I must leap back and spin away when it descends into nonsense. Then there are news programmes. Watching a clip of a seemingly safe Newsnight segment, for example, can get me riled within seconds, and in the spirit of self-care, I continue to give Question Time a wide berth. (Although I'd argue that with no audience panto-booing when anyone speaks, a better level of debate is possible.) Every time an MP pops up to defend the indefensible (refusing to support free school meals over Christmas, for example) I'm both sickened by their stance, whilst fascinated that they think it, let alone choose to say it out loud. The news continues to mimic a drug after a lifetime of misuse. There are no more highs but you continue regardless. You don't know how not to. There's no upside and nothing feels good anymore.

It was all so different once. My first memory of a specific news story was on October 11th 1982. (Wikipedia has told me this. I only remember I was in Reception class.) By then I'd been in school for a month. That particular morning, the routine of hanging up my coat and sitting on the carpet waiting for the teacher was different. There was a TV in the room! Like at home but on tall wheels! Myself and the other four year olds were treated to breaking news: the raising of the Mary Rose ship as it was broadcast to the country. I had no clue about any of it, except it was clear the adults in the room were excited. It's my only memory of watching live news in school so it must have been important. 

It's so far removed from
Democrats v Republicans now. 

Whether it was important or not, isn't the issue. It wasn't gut wrenching. It wasn't disappointing in the way it was presented and it wasn't stressful. (Being four probably helped, tbh.) But that's what I'm missing now. I want at least some of the news I read to be non-stressful, and about events I'd be happy to recall at a later date. It's hard to find those stories amidst the current cacophony. Between COVID death rates, the imminent lockdown, the heartbreaking deaths of children at sea, and the refusal by some in power to recognise that children shouldn't starve, there's little room for anything else. There's not much good news around right now. The fact that it's the US election tomorrow, is doing nothing to calm my nerves. No matter what the polls say, anyone who remembers the sickening reality of 2016 cannot rely on the data. I'm keeping everything crossed for good to triumph over evil. What else can I do?

This is just the day job.

But look. This can't all be doom and gloom. Not really. As much as it feels like there's nothing positive to focus on, that's simply not true. Let me offer some evidence with two words. Marcus Rashford.

Full column by Marina Hyde here.
Perfect for government critics and football fans alike.

I couldn't tell you anything about Rashford's sporting achievements beyond the fact he plays footy. I'm sure he's marvellous but that's not what I'm obsessed with right now. It's his determination to use his platform for the benefit of others that's so hugely inspiring. How much easier must it be to go to training and then go home. How much simpler would his life be if he used Twitter to like memes, and share joke with his friends. Instead, he holds up a mirror to the government's cruelty, rallies a nation, coordinates UK-wide free school meal provision from restaurants and local councils, and finds the time to respond to children, that tweet him with news of their pocket money donations. His work with the charity FareShare prompted a surge in donations. His petition from earlier in the year continues to gather signatures. I am now at the age where my female peers don't announce secret crushes on a twenty-three year old man*, but instead comment that his mum must be so proud. And yeah, she must. Last week Marina Hyde wrote another blisteringly good column where she drew parallels between Rashford's and Johnson's experiences of being young twenty-somethings. I'm sure I don't need to give you a clue as to who came out best. Put simply, the man is a legend. A generation of kids who live in poverty will be fed over the school holidays. Their parents' worries will be eased a little because of his actions. What a wonderful legacy on top of his day job. 

After writing all that, and reading warming articles about the good deeds Rashford has inspired, I've found myself at a loss once more. A scroll through Twitter and the main news websites, looking for upbeat news and feel-good stories, draws a blank. It's been that kind of year. So instead, I'm going to leave you with a couple of videos. If, like Whitney Houston, you believe the children are our future, then this will be right up your street. Because by being a loved, supported and encouraged kid, by - dare I quote Whitney again? - being taught well and being let lead the way, there's more chance you'll grow into an adult that cares about others. That's my untested hypothesis but it makes sense to me. So click this link, and then this link and watch the next generation being fabulous and clever and funny. If nothing else it might distract you from what could happen tomorrow night. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

*Happy birthday to Marcus who turned 23 on Saturday!