EXIT, PURSUED BY 'THE APOCALYPSE'

So — quick! — read this first...

Apologies for the long silence—life got in the way for a while there. Which is just one of the reasons I don’t charge for my ‘stacks. The other — main — reason being that every time I sit down and prepare to unleash an opinion about a suitably hot topic, I’m so damned spoilt for subject matter I invariably end up going ‘nah…’.

While I’m not exactly an amateur, we part-time op-ed dilettantes invariably get beaten to the culture war goodie-bags by the hard-working Pros—aka contracted columnists on those media platforms with greater reach than mine. (Which is all media platforms, everywhere).

So, given the pickings are likely to be slim, what’s left to say that hasn’t already been said about…

SCHOOL KIDS ‘IDENTIFYING’ AS CRAZY SHIT (AND CATS)

I’m not sure the cat-people are taking the piss out of teachers—which seems to be the consensus at the more sophisticated edges of the media. Some of them could be, of course (and yay for that), however I suspect most of them are simply having their minds warped by Tik-Tok—which if it isn’t a CCCP tool deployed to derange the youth of the West for the greater good of China is doing a bloody good job of looking like one. And if that makes me sound like a crazy old Boomer—well I’d far rather that than my sons ‘identifying as’ anything other than what they are.

In truth, however, I do also feel ever-so-slightly responsible for the current madness, merely by the fact of having contributed to the cult of *extraordinary individualism* in its younger days.

My professional journey started at the 1980s ‘style magazine’ i-D, which initially filled its pages with ‘straight-ups’ – effectively, shots of interesting-looking young people accompanied by a little bio: name, age, location, likes/dislikes, musical affiliations, etc. It was literally Instagram-on-paper.

At i-D (where I started as receptionist), I was both the subject of ‘straight-ups’ and subsequently, as a staff member, one of its content providers. From there, I moved to The Face magazine. These were both ground-breaking publications that in their own distinct ways helped to define a younger generation’s default mindset—that utter fabulousness is always within reach and that the perception of one’s ‘specialness’ isn’t niche (ie limited only to one’s family and close friends) but should be of equal and abiding interest to everybody.

From here it’s literally a hop/skip/quantum leap to identifying as a rabbit/kangaroo/quark. Or becoming an Influencer.

I’m sorry about my own tiny contribution to this madness—though stating that I have contributed to it at all is obviously part of my very own super special narrative-of-uniqueness: my brand. (And while we’re at it, despite ending up writing any number of first-person newspaper columns where my feelings were quite literally the headline, personally I still don’t think I get anywhere near enough credit for being as amazing as I very clearly am).

Anyway, back to Kids-Identifying-As-Holograms… where the best comment I have so far read on the subject came from the super-strict headteacher Katharine Birbalsingh—who blames a culture in which parents are no longer comfortable setting boundaries for children, which starts with parents giving toddlers choices about what they eat. She is clearly on to something here because while contemporary parents see it as ‘kind’ to empower their children the truth is that young kids hate making decisions—they haven’t yet learned how to join those synapses and so perceive decision-making (quite correctly) to be an adult’s job.

In short, if you give kids enough rope don’t be surprised when they start a tug-of-war.

BORIS JOHNSON BEING UNFIT/ FIT FOR PUBLIC OFFICE

This topic is now just dullsville clickbait and I wish my fellow hacks would stop. It’s not only completely over for BJ as far as voters are concerned but the idea of it not being over is also 1000% uninteresting in every conceivable way. All that’s left, then, is for the ex-PM to write (endlessly, and at length) about his very own super special narrative-of-uniqueness. Meanwhile, as hubris is practically an anagram of rubbish, let us all click ‘Empty Bin’ and move on.

THE INEVITABLE CLIMATE APOCALYPSE

I’ve no idea where it came from (perhaps I invented it!) however, since I was a very small child I’ve confidently subscribed to my own ‘philosophy’ around both the nature of the planet and our place in it— best summed-up as the planet being a dog on which we are the fleas.

This personal ‘belief system’ has (forgive me) weathered any number of other philosophical storms/shifts/volte-faces. For instance, as I’ve grown up I’ve shifted my politics just a very few degrees from dreamily/youthfully slightly left-of-centre to pragmatically/maturely marginally centre-right… while also becoming a voter who will, in the future, need a great deal of convincing to vote for anybody at all.

Meanwhile, having also grudgingly accepted that I’m probably nowhere near as amazingly special and fabulous as I used to think I was, I’m clearly also on the brink of being a Proper Grown-Up… and still very much on-board the Dog, clinging for dear life to its tail.  

Anyway, the Dog/Flea System has also ensured that I have never, not even for a nanosecond, felt scared for the future of the planet — which I firmly believe is very much the Boss of Us and is therefore going to be fine for as long as our sun continues to burn (roughly another five billion years). Of course, somewhere during this timeframe – maybe in 100 years, maybe 100,000 — the Planet-as-Dog/Host may find a way to lose all its Fleas… in which case so be it. Meantime, driving a (finite-natural-asset-plundering) electric car and/or gluing yourself to Ronnie O’Sullivan after painting him orange (or whatever) will make no difference whatsoever. Because the Dog really doesn’t give a shit, except when it does give a shit. Or — worse — chooses to roll in celestial fox-poo.

THERE WAS FAR TOO MUCH COVERAGE OF THE TITANIC SUBMERSIBLE AND NOT ENOUGH ABOUT THE SUNKEN TRAWLER CARRYING THE REFUGEES

In an increasingly ‘non-binary’ world one would have hoped that these two stories wouldn’t be conflated — yet even the non-binary world can become ever-so-binary when it gets hung up on a Twitter-y (that’s to say, ever-binary) Poor-Good/Rich-Bad trope.

Fact is (and however tragic the circumstances), a sinking boat is a story we have read before, and will again. Titanic, anyone? (And yeah, I’ve seen that movie so I know that that story also had its own Poor-Good/Rich-Bad Venn Diagram).

But a shonky-looking submersible loaded with billionaires getting lost miles below the surface of the Atlantic while they’re stalking the Titanic … with an oxygen-clock ticking?! Hell, that’s an episode of ‘24’. It’s ‘Apollo Eleven’ multiplied by those kids-in-the-Thai-cave… it’s playing the horror-movie in your own head and (before we knew that it had — comparatively blessedly — imploded days ago) thinking OMIGOD I CAN’T EVEN IMAGINE HOW THEY MUST BE FEELING RIGHT NOW?! … while trying to do exactly that.

And that’s humans for you—endlessly intrigued by the novelty of impending disaster, ever since the beginning of time.

So, it’s not simply five rich people pushing their personal envelopes in ways we can’t quite begin to imagine VERSUS 750 people drowning in the Mediterranean; it’s not a competition for our empathy—it’s just two entirely different stories necessarily being processed by human brains in two entirely different, though not necessarily mutually exclusive, ways.

But maybe we’re just not very good at doing that kind of thing anymore? Perhaps we’re losing our more nuanced skillsets… along with the ability to feel stuff without first checking Twitter* to discover the *correct* way to feel?

(I mean, I haven’t, obviously… but how about you?).

Tired of being told how to feel all the time by algorithms? You bet! Though it’s not stopping anytime soon, sadly—so, bring on the Climate Apocalypse and the AI Revolution…

A.I. WILL SINGLE-HANDEDLY STEER THE WORLD TOWARDS THE EVENT HORIZON

Don’t be silly — once it works out what they’re for it’ll definitely use both hands! Though of course we’ll probably be extinct long before then!

FINALLY… GLASTONBURY IS THE APEX OF LIFE’S PYRAMID (STAGE)-OF-JOY

My first — and last — totally immersive festival experience was at the Stonehenge Festival in 1981, where I camped in a field next to the stones with my then boyfriend. You could still go and touch them back in 1981 but, stone-fondling thrills aside, the festival’s ‘headliners’ were (if memory serves) The Ruts DC—which wasn’t exactly a giant draw for me. I guess Adam & The Ants/Bauhaus/Killing Joke/ The Cramps (etc) weren’t on the ‘festival’ circuit back then.

Anyway, after The Ruts (and having partaken of too much ‘Black Leb’), I had my bag and all my clothes (including a fine pair of black suede ankle boots I am actively still mourning) nicked. So, ever since I have successfully avoided all forms of camping and any kind of festival-immersiveness.

I did once nearly fall off the wagon—however an argument in the car with (a different) boyfriend while en-route to Glasto ‘92 meant that I happily hopped out at Castle Cary and got the train home. I’m not a complete saddo, mind; I have racked up a few festivals on day tickets. For me, sliding into the Volvo at the end of a day of lovely live music, slow-fast-food and interminable queuing for fetid loos behind teenagers drunk on glitter and stoned on inappropriate snogging feels just as good as the festi-faithful probably feel on arrival. And, anyway, I saw Elton at the O2 in April.

Nonetheless, for those members of my generation who still enjoy identifying as ‘young people’, I hope your Glasto Expectations are not merely met but fully exceeded. Not least because I hear the Apocalypse is scheduled for Monday.

[*Other sources of nonsense opinions are available]

I STILL HAVE NO PLANS TO CHARGE FOR MY ‘STACKS, HOWEVER IF YOU ENJOYED THIS DO FEEL FREE TO BUY ME A COFFEE - it’s much appreciated, thank you! Kate x