Seriously, can anyone remember a time before the permacrisis? Before everything seemed bathed in blue strobing lights; before life seemed like it was accompanied by a siren; before just getting out of bed caused a quickening of your pulse? A week is a long time in politics — but it was only a week ago that the PM lifted the remaining Covid restrictions, drawing a line under an era that included a diktat not to sit on a park bench with a friend under any circumstances, unless the circumstance was “I work at Downing Street!”. Things were finally sort of OK? Just for a moment or so, if you squinted. And then with impeccable timing, a venomous, semi-inflated toad of a man promptly started World War Three.
A crisis is a privilege check; there is always someone worse off than you, and in this case, there is a nation of the frightened, shelled and displaced. But humans contain multitudes — and it is possible to feel wretched, helpless compassion for the people suffering at the hands of Putin (or suffering anywhere, in fact) and also to miss the lightness of life before everything went to shit; before you woke up to 15 alarming news notifications, which at this stage might as well just read: “Yes, it’s more bad news!”
I presume many of us relatively lucky ones now spend the wired and wakeful witching hours Googling “how human survive nuclear apocalypse?” Followed by: “how human survive climate crisis?” (yesterday, a UN report issued its “bleakest warning yet” on global warming). Eventually, I end up down a sad virtual rabbit hole (“how human survive endless misery?”). The memes are not helping.
Spoiler alert: nor is my solution, which is to shout, “can we please just not talk about it” every time someone mentions anything miserable. It might get you to bedtime, although by that point, there’ll probably be another clusterf**** to keep you awake all night. Other suggestions include turning off all news notifications (admittedly difficult if you are a journalist — but save yourselves); hiding under a duvet and conducting all business from there henceforth; and standing on the street, in full view of your neighbours, begging the world “to just stop so you can get off”. At this stage, you might find there’s a queue.
How long has it been like this? A straw poll of colleagues provides a few clues. For many it was Covid; another says Brexit; one suggested things hadn’t really been right since the early Noughties (cheerful). Certainly, optimists are in short supply. Guys, your country needs you.
But besides this low-grade ache of resignation, the overwhelming feeling is one of homesickness — nostalgia not for a place but a simpler time. So my final suggestion? Just check out. The past is a foreign country: go on holiday there. Enter a perma-fugue state and return to your happy place for a while. Mine is maybe a hazy, lazy heatwave bank holiday; or on top of the hill at Glastonbury, cider and a cig in hand. From up here, the view looks OK, if you squint.
In other news...
Gen Z have just discovered nepotism babies
If further distractions are required, may I offer the latest Gen Z outrage? On TikTok, the kids aren’t alright: they’re sharing their dismay that icons like Euphoria’s Maude Apatow and model Kaia Gerber are so-called “nepotism babies” — in other words, the children of famous people. Apatow is the daughter of Hollywood producer Judd and actress Leslie Mann, and Gerber is an identikit version of her mother, Cindy Crawford. Other “nepotism babies” include Lily Rose Depp and the Beckham sons.
While I wish celeb kids well, I agree with the spirit of the outrage — yes, it is annoying when the children of famous people find fame comes easily to them too. But may this wizened, disillusioned old bat of a millennial also say this to the kids? Guys, you have a lot to learn about the world.
