The Fairer Alternative To The Glastonbury Ticket Trauma

On Sunday (19th November), I found myself in two queues. One for the greatest music festival on the planet and the other for a festively decorated handmade keepsake ghost.

The Trauma Of Trying To Get A Ticket To Glastonbury Festival

The first will be quite well-known for those who enjoy music festivals. I set my alarm for 8am, opened my laptop and set two different browsers to open at the Glastonbury tickets page hosted by SeeTickets, then did the same with my mobile phone. After washing my face and brewing a pot of coffee, I checked in with the various individuals and groups on social media doing exactly the same thing. Some with several more devices, but all with the same intention, getting through to the payment page to book a Glastonbury ticket.

The Odds Are Not In Your Favour

The premise is quite simple and ardently follows the principles of supply and demand yet with such a prize on offer the experience is renowned for its inherent disappointment and anxiety-ridden trauma. There are only 210,000 tickets available and with around two and a half million trying to get tickets, that leaves the chances down to around 10% of securing a ticket. Then come the logistics. Each individual is allowed to buy six tickets in total for themselves and five of their mates, as long as they’re registered with Glastonbury Festival.

Disappearing Registrations

Even getting registered successfully proved to be too much for SeeTickets as numerous reports came in that details had expired. In effect, registrations had disappeared and the online sale was delayed for two weeks while the system was looked at.

Increasing Your Chances

If you did manage to successfully register your details, you could add them to a spreadsheet with the details of others to form a group. The more groups you are in, the higher your chances of getting a ticket.

Let’s say you are in a group with two others. You’ve tripled your chances of getting a ticket compared with trying on your own. However, if you are in a group of six, those odds are halved again. Find yourself in another group and those odds are halved again in your favour.

Timeout For The Payment Page

I was in a single group with five others and waited dutifully until 9am and then clicked refresh on every page. For anyone who has tried to get Glastonbury tickets before, the sight of the holding page should be etched in their mind’s eye. They will likely see it as they sleep, as it may be all they stare at for a full hour as the clock ticks down from 20 to auto-refresh. You can click F5 as much as you like, you will likely still see the same page. Over and over again.

At 09:08, I checked my phone and the page had changed. I was through. The door was ajar. I inputted my registration number and postcode with the details of the five others in my group. Clicking confirm, the next page stated that those details were correct as the names were a confirmed match. All I needed to do now was put in my personal details and those of my card. I checked them over once as the clock was ticking down from five minutes. Content, I clicked the ‘Buy Tickets’ button and waited. And watched the clock tick down from five minutes.

I let my team know that ‘I was in’ on WhatsApp and tried to manage expectations while anxiously watching the clock. With any other payment page, you can expect a few seconds of lag as the details successfully go through. As I kept watching, the clock kept going. All the way down to zero. The page had timed out, my card had not been charged, and there was no email confirmation.

As it turns out, mine was not an isolated experience which makes you wonder why SeeTickets has failed to improve the system. Surely, it cannot all be down to demand alone? A few of those who did manage to get through to the payment page were even able to make multiple orders. Presumably on the same IP address. Whether true or not, once through to the booking complete page, one individual was able to return to secure bookings for more registered users. A simple but an effective hack and a bug that should have been elimated by SeeTickets in their testing.

Few online purchases are as traumatic as trying to secure a Glastonbury ticket yet SeeTickets refuse to make it easier which suggests that the ticketing service is quite happy to inflict pain on hundreds of thousands of customers. They will have known in advance that demand far outstretches supply so why not make it easier? Allow longer for payments to go through? Better still, allow for a lottery system like the one with The York Ghost Merchants.

The York Ghosts Experience

I was unaware of ‘York Ghosts’ until I saw them stood on a fireplace. Available in a vast array of designs and at only a couple of inches long, they are hugely collectable. Thankfully, they use a far more democratic means of distribution when they release a limited batch. You simply head to the website an hour before the sale and wait. The online system is operated by Queue Fair who boast of treating your visitors with ‘unrivalled fairness’ and I can testify to that. When the sale begins, you are allocated a number in a virtual queue. As soon as you get the number, you have a good idea of your chances of getting an order through.

A Selection of York Ghosts

Today, there were 4,000 Hanging Christmas Ghosts available. Should your number be grossly over 4,000, you can appreciate that you are likely to miss out. Come in under 4,000 and you simply have to wait for your turn. No refreshing, you can head off to make yourself a brew and watch some TV while you watch the bar scroll across the page as the queue diminishes.

In fact, the system eases the potentially huge stress which is placed on the website. As Queue Fair states, ‘When your site has more visitors than it can handle gracefully, the excess visitors are automatically sent away from your webservers to a branded online queue – it then sends visitors back to your site in first-come, first-served order at the rate that you desire.‘ Something that SeeTickets has noted for years for their popular ticket sales, but simply refuses to do anything about. They’d prefer a stressful mad scramble rather than a democratic process.

The York Ghosts Merchants site is open about why they use Queue Fair. It states that the system, ‘ensure none of our customers experience glitches regarding payments or ordering.‘ Imagine, a customer experience designed to be simple, fair, and effective.

Their website goes on to say, ‘The programme then lets a number of customers through every minute so that the website doesn’t become overloaded. If there are a small number of ghosts and a large amount of people all trying to access the shop page at the same time, you may find that your queue number is bigger than the amount of ghosts available. This will allow you to decide whether to wait it out or leave the website.‘ Compare that with spending an hour frantically hoping to get through to a payment page where you may not even be able to secure your order.

‘Once you access the shop page, we would urge you to complete your purchase quickly as you would have done before. You will have 5 minutes to complete your purchase but if the amount of ghosts is small, the people being let in after you may still be able to get a ghost before you if they are quicker or you spend time filling in details- this only applies to limited releases.’ Thankfully, once you do get through, as long as there are items left, you should be able to get one. Granted, if your number in the queue is down to single figures, it is likely a game of Fastest Fingers First.

Transparent Selling

More businesses are excelling at transparency, but not SeeTickets with its Glastonbury ticket sale. Having taken screenshots of the hallowed payment page, I wanted to ask SeeTickets what had happened? How they have a system that still fails when you are ready to make a payment. Glastonbury Festival tickets sold out within an hour and the holding page had changed.

Now it included a link for you to ‘check your order online’. Only, the link didn’t work. Later on in the day, I investigated how I could contact SeeTickets via email, yet there is no direct email address for their Customer Service. Their social media is inundated with pleas for a ballot system and similar experience to mine. No direct replies though, even their Instagram profile refuses direct messages.

How many businesses operate such a traumatic sales process and fail to give customers the right to reply? SeeTickets is aware of how problematic their system is and until they face competition from another ticket outlet it will likely remain the same year-on-year. Why allow customers the opportunity to complain when you can simply remove the avenue to create a response?

To those who got a Glastonbury ticket, or a York Ghost, consider yourselves one of the lucky few. If only SeeTickets were to read the room and try a little harder to create a far more fair and democratic system.

SAD, Same As It Ever Was

There it is, with a gnawing inevitability. Less natural light, plumper jackets, and a change in the colour of the leaves on the trees. I should be used to this by now. My mind sensing the clouds becoming greyer, more pregnant with unease. The thoughts darkening my mood. The same day as Halloween sees the end of British Summer Time and with it the official start of my Seasonal Affective Disorder. 

Seasonal Affective Disorder

After almost a decade of being diagnosed with the condition, sometimes known as ‘winter depression’ or ‘winter blues’, the fact that I can now anticipate it should be a boon. Gradually, I’ve seen an increasingly welcome awareness of mental health that is slowly removing the stigma. For me, it means I don’t feel I have to hide and suffer in silence. 

Awareness is the first step and the symptoms can include; low mood, losing interest in physical contact (including sex), feeling agitated, difficulty concentrating, a loss of pleasure in activities you usually enjoy and unerring thoughts of despair and worthlessness. There are physical symptoms too ranging from sapping of energy and finding it hard to get up in the morning to a change in appetite and gaining weight (particularly easy as winter deepens). Accepting that you have the condition is a start, dealing with it can be in a myriad of ways.

Treat Yo’Self

Make a list of all the things you enjoy doing. Seriously, write them down. For me that’s; 

• going to the cinema, 
• listening to music, 
• drinking a beer, 
• going for a walk while listening to a podcast
• watching some local football or 
• a daytrip doing whatever the fuck I want. 

Try to find the time to include one of these things on each day. Write them out in a calendar so you have something to look forward to. Daily relaxation techniques such as yoga and meditation can boost your feeling of well-being too. Regular exercise also helps so aim for half an hour to an hour every day of anything from weights to rowing. I’ve joined a running club and will try to throw in a weekly Parkrun alongside daily long walks. Treating the soul and the body. 

Supplements

One of the natural causes of SAD is a lack of Vitamin D which can be naturally occuring in sunlight. From around March to October you can get sufficient Vitamin D from spending time outdoors yet in winter that sunlight is harder to come by. You can change your diet to include more Vitamin D from oily fish (salmon, sardines and mackerel), walnuts, flaxseeds and egg yolks yet the easiest form is dietary supplements. A craving for carbs is also a symptom so if you get a hankering opt for the complex variety; bananas, oats, brown bread and rice. These foods should boost your serotonin levels to improve your mood without the sugar crash.

SAD Lamp

As the nights draw in, the mornings become darker. If you are like most people you’ll be getting up at around the same time, for me that’s around 7am. On Halloween, the clocks go back and waking up in the dark brings a persistent sense of doom and gloom before the day has truly begun. Thankfully you can apply some science to the problem and invest in a SAD Lamp which provides light therapy, also known as phototherapy or heliotherapy. In natural terms this can include exposure to sunlight yet in the mornings a SAD Lamp can mimic the effect of a summer sunrise while you lay in bed as a reliable, daily treatment for Seasonal Affective Disorder.

My trusty SAD Lamp

It is somewhat easy to withdraw, even viewing the condition as a natural excuse to hibernate. One of the lessons I’ve learnt is not to allow dark thoughts to take over, instead I write a blog post when I know it’s time to get worried. Talk to people, ask them out for a Pumpkin Spice Latte (if you’re so inclined), let them know there will be occasions when you push people away when you need them the most. Check in with your mates who may be going through the same thing. Join a class. Volunteer. Get. Out. There. Of course, the weather might be inhospitable and staying in usually means reaching for the Irish Cream and a tub of ice-cream when Strictly comes on. That’s ok as a treat but all in moderation and ideally with friends. 

Reach Out 

If you’re struggling then help is out there. In the UK you can call the Mind Infoline on 0300 123 3393 and there are Depression Support Groups

Nothing To Plan During A Pandemic

Plans, do you remember them? Plans?

There used to be a time when you could simply go out to the pub with a mate, text some more and your night was set. Decide on another pub, then a club, whether you’d bring some company home or settle on some chips. Or book a holiday on a whim. Good times. Distant times.

Today, Sheffield has been announced as facing the toughest set of measures in the latest system to combat the spread of COVID-19. In total, around 55 million people in the UK are now banned from mixing with other households indoors after 2 December. Apart from Christmas, of course, it seems that the virus does indeed have a religious conscience.

For me, that means no pub, no cinema and no tangible escape from my own deteriorating mental health. November is an important month for me, when I grow a moustache to raise awareness and funds for vital men’s health projects. When I test the limits of my own self-esteem by forcing myself outside while sporting some ill-advised facial hair for Movember (follow the link to see my progress and please donate what you can).

This is also the month when I feel the rigours of Seasonal Affective Disorder coming on. As the evenings draw in and sunlight takes longer to appear, my mood darkens. The moustache is a welcome distraction, reminding me to keep my spirits up for those men who are finding it difficult.

The month is almost at an end and while I’d normally find respite in meeting a mate in the pub to vent down my local or to show off my moustache in public I know that’s not currently possible. Neither is losing myself in a film at the cinema, alone with a bag of sweets. Nor going to a football match to shout at some men running around a field made of painted white lines. My happy places are locked shut and my thoughts have little room to escape.

For anyone who doesn’t know what it’s like dealing with Seasonal Affective Disorder, imagine your depression and anxiety ramped up. You suffer low moods without having any relevant reasoning as to why you might want to rip someone’s head off. Mornings are particularly difficult, you may wake up with a sense of dread so thick it clouds your own judgment and pins you under the sheets.

I no longer make plans. There’s no real point and not a lot to look forward to. I cannot decide on a night out nor a trip to the cinema so my morning routine has this tired, pathetic feel to it. Wake up. Get a brew. Read. Exercise. Shower. Get Dressed. Then what? On some days there’s a sense of pointlessness, that there really is little to bother getting up for (another symptom of SAD is losing joy in things you usually enjoy doing).

Even the most straightforward of plans now seems riddled with anguish. Running is a great way to escape your own mind. Yet in the current pandemic I find myself anxious simply trying to plan where I’ll run and at what time. There are three infant schools surrounding my flat so I can either get up eerily early and run in the dark (not the best of ideas when you have SAD) or plan to go after the school rush at which point the park will be busy and pedestrians will ensure I have to dip in the road to ensure social distancing.

Is social distancing still a thing? One of my primary worries is wondering quite when this will be over and when I don’t need to worry about getting close to someone. Hugs. I remember them.

Sheffield has always harboured a rebellious streak and part of me wonders that one of the reasons why the city has been lumped into Tier 3 is an attitude that in The People’s Republic of South Yorkshire we’ll do what we want and to hell with the consequences. While I’m the one running into the road, there are hundreds of other joggers who’d happily breeze through any gap they see, even if it means being within a centimeter of someone else, let alone an entire meter.

Food shopping rapidly sets off my anxiety. I scan the supermarket floor grimacing at people either without a mask or wearing one without covering their nose. As I scan the shelves I’m joined by people who seem eager to share my space, as if huddling for warmth while choosing their brand of ham in the cold meats section. I now have an abject fear of public transport as I worry how many people can wear a mask properly.

Another concern is if you’re not enforcing the rules, how can you force people to abide by them? I’ve followed how Melbourne has tackled their lockdown restrictions and been suitably impressed by the spirit of Victorians. I still have friends in Melbourne and have been told that for 111 days they were encased in a three mile bubble, that they could only escape with a permit.

How schools, businesses and places of worship were shut. How they could only go outside for an hour or so and faced a nightly curfew for weeks. The conditions were tough, but they prevailed. In July, cases reached a peak of over 700 a day. Now they’re reporting ‘Donut Days’ of 0 cases and 0 deaths.

I appreciate how so many families here would find it difficult to close schools. How businesses would suffer. Yet Melbourne found a resilience that I haven’t seen in this country. There’d be protests as to why our human rights and freedom of movement have been impinged on, simply by being told to wear a mask. How the government has no right to keep us indoors.

Perhaps if those difficult decisions had been made early enough, wondering if you’re going to infect your Nan come Christmas wouldn’t be such an issue. And yet, there’s a likelihood that cases will spike again in January when there’s a realisation of how nonsensical it is to mix three households over the festive season. As if the virus is cognizant enough to recognise an armistice.

I avoid the news as the view from my window is all I need to see. Not Matt Hancock and his visible lack of a spine. Nor the rambles of our Prime Minister as he struggles to explain the latest restrictions and why we’re STILL in this predicament. I’d much rather escape to The West Wing for my political heroes.

I now make lists instead of plans. Lists of podcasts to listen to, shows to watch, books to read, albums to listen to and recipes to try. Lists of holiday destinations, food shopping and things to do when all this is over. When you’re in lockdown, media, literature, music and cooking are your means of escape.

Plans. Do you remember them?

Dating in the Digital Age: Reflex rather than Reason

As a (borderline) millennial, my dating experience has been largely shaped by the digital age. For all the technological advances of the 21st century I imagine dating was a lot simpler without mobile phones and the internet. Without the hassle of apps, profiles and algorithms you’d know if you liked someone by more organic means. The way someone made you feel by how they behaved and what they said. Now that route is getting lost behind a seemingly unassailable quest for perfection and decisions made by reflex rather than reason.

We now have to stand out just to remain competitive. How we look and what we say are now held up for the wider community to judge rather than just limited to your peers outside in the real world. There’s a lot to be said about the corrosive effects of Love Island yet that desire to be a perfect physical specimen (a snack, apparently) has been adopted online. While that toning competitiveness sates the needs of the contestants and the public watching at home, we all do it when we pick and choose on an app. Abs, tan lines, white teeth and height all seem essential requirements to get anywhere these days. Fail on just one of those criterion and it’s curtains.

Are they sociable? Do they holiday in the right places? Have they got a dazzling smile? Are they adventurous? Do they prefer bars or clubs? Do they work out? Are they good with kids? Do they spend way too much time with their pets? Do they like football? You can only gauge so much from a set of six photos and even then that’s a stylised, choreographed glimpse into someone’s life. A picture can speak a thousand words but two seconds in someone’s company will likely tell you so much more.

Choosing the right photos is only half the trouble as you then have to choose the right words. There seems to be a thin tightrope between sounding cheeky and borderline creepy. A little about me can be make or break and what emojis you pick can go a long way. Quotes can be inspired and insipid. Chat-up lines fixed and foolish. Lists demanding and divisive. Whatever you do type will be judged, pored over and scrutinised all in a couple of seconds.

Then there’s the question of which photos and which words to use on which apps. Should you be more considered on Bumble because the girl gets to choose? More flirtatious on Tinder to aim for the Saturday night crowd? More opinionated on OKCupid to suit their algorithms? That’s even before considering whether to pay on Eharmony.

This is where the Paradox of Choice comes into play. If you limit yourself to a handful of options at least you’ll have a good idea of what you like, at least you can reason with what’s available instead of acting on reflex with the options you see. Much like grocery shopping, instead of doing your perusing online and deliberating over which grade of asparagus you want actually take a tote bag to your local greengrocer. Shopping is a lot easier when you can see with your own eyes and judge what’s put in front of you.

With so many apps to choose from and so many profiles to consider some of us seem blinded by choice, crippled by so many options and helpless to take a chance. To know so many people match what you’re looking for can raise hopes yet it all seems so temporary and even cheap when there’s such a plethora of options. Let’s put it this way. If you went to the pub and were introduced to someone who wasn’t your ‘type’ but you still hit it off, are you more likely to go out with them rather than the absolute snack who can’t hold a meaningful conversation?

Dating apps now fill a gap of convenience. While we were once limited to the people we’d physically come into contact with, now our eyes have been widened to people we might not even cross paths with, all in the palm of our hands at a moment’s notice. People we can judge in an instant despite never sharing the same space. There’s something inherently wrong about that; a quick cynicism we’d all do well to avoid. That your hopes of a match can be dashed because someone doesn’t like your haircut in a particular photo, or disagrees with your top five films, or thinks you could lose a few pounds. Things you’d gloss over in public are now the be all and end all online.

At least in the real world you can usually tell if someone likes you with a glance. Ghosting doesn’t happen because you can simply be polite and make your exit. Rejection can be a forced smile and a dignified response. Few people nail first dates as easily as they do online dating, therein lies the concern. We can all parade our best selves online yet when it comes to nailing a first impression and holding a conversation isn’t that where the focus should be?

The Final Things I Wanted To See In Game of Thrones

After eight years and 73 episodes, the final end credits have played out on Game of Thrones. Today is the first Monday after the end and I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself. I’m not even sure whether or not I’m content with how the whole shebang finished. Certainly, the amount of debate that the ending has brought suggests that while some, like me, are satisifed there will be thousands of avid fans who wanted so much more. For the record, no, I have not signed the petition to remake season eight. As much as I sense that the season was rushed, it’s insulting to so many people involved in the show’s production. If you’re not happy with how something ended, take the effort to create something yourself. Having said that, here’s a list of the things I wanted to see.

1. Closure. Jon became Queenslayer, the wheel was broken and Bran was crowned the new King. Who’d have thunk it? If those were the bullet points around the show’s ending, there was a nod to John Hughes in how the second half of the finale went of tying up loose ends. Bronn got Highgarden, though it would have been nice to see him lord it up. Tyrion became Hand to The King, more as a penance than a reward. Similarly, Jon returned to The Night’s Watch to spend his life sentence with Tormund and Ghost. His arc now resembles that of Aemon Targaryen; being a potential heir to the throne yet finding himself protecting the realms of men with duty presiding over love. Sansa became Queen of The North, evoking Elisabeth I in ruling alone and forgoing children. Her sister became Arya The Explorer. Brienne joined The Kingsguard, Pod was knighted and Sam became Grand Maester, (though does that mean he’s left Gilly, Lil Sam and even Lil’r Sam in Horn Hill?). It was all a bit… cosy, part of me wanted a truly ambiguous ending to keep me guessing. One suggestion doing the rounds is Drogon landing in Volantis to leave Dany’s body with a Red Priestess with the final shot being her gasping for breath after her resurrection. Would have been… interesting.
2. A New Power Structure. For all the expectancy around The Mad Queen’s demise, it was Drogon that took the decisive step. Having realised that Jon wasn’t responsible for her death, rather her power crazed quest for The Iron Throne was, he turned his heartbroken fury and fire to the seat that is now a molten puddle. Quite what Drogon appreciates of politics is anyone’s guess yet you’d hope they’d spent some time extrapolating the extent of a dragon’s intelligence. Maybe a bit more time for Dany to explain to Jon her almost telepathic link with her dragons in an effort to add some meat to Jon as Aegon Targaryen so it didn’t look like such a pointless reveal too. In any case, the feudal system is over and rulers will now be chosen in The Dragonpit, which calls into question why so much was made of Cersei’s pregnancy/courting of Euron and Dany’s infertility/courting of Jon as none of it mattered in the end. The King was picked and he couldn’t even bear children. I was close with my prediction of a new council though the show failed to explain how The Dothraki would have taken the news of Dany’s death. Would they have casually returned to Vaes Dothrak? What about how the rest of the Six Kingdoms would have taken it? For all the lolz that Sam’s suggestion of democracy brought, there was a point to be made of how the masses would have taken the news. Aside from some Northern folk and the ashen remains of King’s Landing we only truly saw the main players. We didn’t even find out how followers of the Faith of the Seven took the destruction of The Sept of Baelor. Did they revolt? Did they rejoice? Did King’s Landing become a totalitarian state ruled by fear? The council that did get to decide the fate of Westeros had a mismatch look to it; less who was worthy to sit on it but who, of even minor importance, was left. Even Ser Davos didn’t think himself worthy, Edmure Tully laughably didn’t and we didn’t even see how Gendry would behave as a Lord. At least we got to see the benefits of titty milk to Robin Arryn.
3. Gendry to land a telling blow with his warhammer.Two battles and not a single warhammer in sight. Disappointing.
4. Revealed: Tyrion is also a Targaryen.He’s not even important enough to be in the official account so no-one really cared, even if he did get to decide the next ruler, while in chains.
5. Revealed: The identity and motive of The Night King.Likely to be included in the Bloodmoon prequel which is under development.
6. The Valonqar prophecy comes true.  Maybe this’ll come out in the books. One of the aspects of the final season that should be noted, and the TV show in general, is how it’s steered away from the eccentric, magical theories in the books to centre on the characters. No Dragonbinder, no ‘Feagon’ and no Lady Stoneheart. If you did want to hear some in-depth discussion of what’s been missed from the books I’d recommend listening to the SpoiLore Editions of the Game of Thrones podcast by Baldmove.com
7. Arya ticks off her kill list. The theory that she would kill Dany after face-swapping proved to be just that. In any case, her ninja skills would have to get her past Drogon.
8. Happy Endings.There were certainly some happy endings for many of the supporting cast, perhaps they were too happy for many.
9. Bran warging.Strangely we didn’t get much warging, or did we? There is a truly staggering theory that suggests that Bran has been planning this from more or less the start. I imagine if you rewatch the show from the beginning knowing he ends up on the throne, every decision works in his favour. Bran always seemed to know where everyone needed to be. Like the ultimate tactician, was he playing the Game of Thrones the entire time? Did he warg into Dany when she laid waste to King’s Landing and did he warg into Jon when he killed her? Did he ensure her closest advisers and one of her children died in front of her to push her to the edge? Did he ensure Sam told Jon at just the right moment to raise the stakes?
10. Samwell Tarly becomes George R.R. Martin.Talking of Sam, in a truly meta moment we saw him present A Story of Fire and Ice.
11. The Prince That Was Promised.Another for the books as the show couldn’t be bothered with it.

 

Seven lessons learned from Fyre Festival

As the title to the Netflix film goes, Fyre Festival really was ‘the greatest party that never happened’. The promotional material depicted supermodels in their natural habitat of sun, sea and… swimming pigs. There was supposed to be Michelin starred chefs, luxury villas and extravagant cocktails. This was supposed to be the festival that only those rich enough to afford it and those shallow enough to enjoy it would attend.

Day tickets were priced from $500 to $1,500 with VIP packages including airfare and luxury tent accommodations for $12,000. The marketing campaign worked a charm as supermodels and Instagram influencers posted a photo of a blood orange square to cries of ‘but what does it all mean!?’ Occasionally they would even hashtag the festival they were being paid to promote. Tickets sold out and that’s when the trouble started.

That the founder, Billy McFarland, is currently serving a sentence of six years behind bars for fraud should tell you that the festival truly went tits up. But what lessons can be learned from the most infamous of festivals?

1. Prioritise toilets over models

Supermodels and Instagram influencers were paid to sell the dream of icing sugar beaches, cocktails and cute swimming pigs. The harsh reality was that people would still need toilets and one of the few sensible voices on the documentary belonged to a pilot; Keith van der Linde. Having learned how to fly on Microsoft Flight Simulator he understood the concept of failing to plan is planning to fail. The pilot would insist on toilets, argue against tents and was roundly ignored. He and the festival planner were gone with less than eight weeks to go. Panic stations.

2. Pay your staff

There was one happy ending thanks to the documentary when a GoFundMe was set up to ensure that festival staff were paid. This included Maryann Rolle who lost her life savings through the fiasco after entertaining revelers out of her own pocket. Things could have gotten a whole lot worse as Bahamian workers threatened to kidnap the well-to-do attendees and even take out hits on the organisers.

3. Ensure you have an adequate stock of clean water

A particularly grim anecdote comes from Andy King, a gay New York City event production planner and associate of McFarland’s. With four trucks loaded with Evian held by customs, McFarland ordered King to bribe officials with fellatio. No joke. In the end the extreme measure was unnecessary yet without clean water the festival could have descended into carnage. Thirsty American revelers can soon turn violent as seen with Woodstock ‘99 where inflated charges for a bottle of water became the tipping point for a riot after a toxic concoction of neglected staff, a lack of toilets and inadequate shade spots.

4. Confirm the festival site well in advance

Plans to host the shebang on Norman’s Cay were scuppered when promotional material advertised that the innocently named island was formerly owned by one Pablo Escobar. With weeks to go, Roker Point on the island of Great Exuma was being readied by installing swing sets then throwing sand over rocks and hoping no-one noticed. McFarland really should have checked the a calendar as The National Family Island Regatta was held on the same weekend in late April. Not only was the site close to uninhabitable, there were no available hotel rooms on the island.

5. Disaster relief tents are not ‘luxury accommodation’

Then there was the accommodation. After guests had been plied with free tequila the looming sight of dozens of FEMA tents should have been enough to sober them up. Akin to a scene from Lost, luxury villas they were not and a stampede for tents and sodden mattresses meant this was closer to the Hunger Games than an uber-exclusive music festival.

6. Secure your caterer well in advance too

The abiding image for Fyre Festival is not of supermodels frolicking in the sand nor of Ja Rule smoking a cigar. Despite the outlandish promotional material, it was one hastily taken photo of the food on offer that really got the public’s attention. Two slices of brown bread, two sweaty cheese slices accompanied by some meagre lettuce and tomato in a sad polystyrene box. To be fair, to offer no salad dressing is an absolute scandal. That’s what happens when a $6m catering budget is reduced to $1m and that one image went viral. Fyre Festival effectively became a laughing stock within a matter of seconds.

7. Don’t invite cameras if you plan on committing fraud

In legal parlance, there is such a term as a ‘slam-dunk’, a case with overwhelming evidence for a conviction. With McFarland out on bail he decided that defrauding hundreds of paying customers once was not enough, he tried to again in a ticket selling scam. Those who had bought tickets to the festival were now receiving emails from ‘NYC VIP Access’ and offered tickets to Coachella and seats at the Met Gala (alas, only those deemed worthy by Anna Wintour are allowed in to the fashion event). To the delight of the prosecution, McFarland had been filmed by an artist named Kindo. Slam. Dunk.

Visit Seville and imagine yourself in the exotic locations of Dorne and Meereen from Game of Thrones

With its blissful warm climate, strategic history and regal architecture, Seville looks fit for the big screen. Throw in some real world tribulations having been founded by the Romans, conquered by the Muslims then enduring the Spanish Civil War and it seems reality mirrored fiction when the city was selected to film the more exotic locations in Game of Thrones.

The city still carries an air of pride and importance, in fact Spanish royalty still have a residence at Real Alcázar which is the Royal Palace and Gardens and should be your first stop too. The site has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1987 and the palace’s walls faithfully depicts its myriad of monarchs and influences. From its Arabic occupancy to late Middle Ages Mudéjar then jumping to the Renaissance, Baroque and the 19th century in it’s very own Game of Thrones. Oh, and have you heard of the executed royal? The alleged brutal murder of Muhammed VI, with his blood told to stain the palace’s marble floor to this day, is the sort of backstabbing that George R.R. Martin could have used for inspiration and makes it perfect to masquerade as the Kingdom of Dorne.

Inside the palaces at Real Alcázar

Even the climate is a natural fit. With average summer high temperatures of above 35c Seville is considered the hottest city in Europe which makes it ideal for Dorne as the southernmost of the Seven Kingdoms. Granted, the plotlines may have been somewhat tedious but the Kingdom of Dorne always appeared the most opulent in the medieval-era world, Dornish outfits were majestically coloured and the surroundings had a brilliant exotic, indulgent charm. Most of that extravagance has been garnered over centuries and centred on Real Alcázar which played the Water Gardens of Dorne, the private estate of the House of Martell during series five.

The fountain in Real Alcázar Gardens where Myrcella and Trystane are filmed strolling

The fountain as depicted in the show

The show first visits the Martells in episode two after Trystane has been betrothed to Myrcella Baratheon. The pair are playing in the gardens below as Prince Doran Martell has a feisty chat with Ellaria Sand on the terrace overlooking Mercury’s Pool. The terrace itself is outside King Pedro’s Palace and out of bounds to the general public though the gardens, including the Italian ‘Grutesco Gallery’, are well worth exploring.

Mercury’s Pool in the Real Alcázar Gardens

In episode five Jamie Lannister arrives to attempt to retrieve Myrcella from her beloved Trystane and runs into Ellaria Sand’s daughters; the Sand Snakes, in the gardens next to Pavilion of Carlos V before all of them are apprehended by Martell soldiers. Another elaborate location is the beautifully lit domes of Maria de Padilla’s Baths where Ellaria secretly convened with the Sand Snakes to plot revenge for Prince Oberyn’s death. While the Martells were known for their promiscuity, fittingly Maria de Padilla was caught up in her own Thrones-esque plot as King Pedro’s mistress.

Maria De Padilla Baths

The baths as depicted in the show

Episode nine featured The Ambassador’s Hall where Prince Doran received Jaime along with Myrcella, Trystane and Ellaria, though the star of the show is the hall’s gorgeous gold ceiling. The palace must have been manna from above for the producers as such glorious elegance would have been impractical to reproduce. From the Arabic three arches to the domed ceiling, ornate furniture, exquisite plasterwork and coloured Moorish ceramic tiles, all they had to was shoot as the backdrop was so sublime. Later on the in the same episode, Ellaria finally swore allegiance to Prince Doran with the paved courtyard of the Patio de las Doncellas in the background.

The Ambassador’s Hall at Real Alcázar

The Ambassador’s Hall as depicted in the show

For those wanting to venture a bit further, there are two other filming locations outside of the city. Santiponce was once considered one of the most important cities in the Roman age and the ruins themselves are free to visit for EU citizens. The Italica ruins have been an attraction since 1989 when it was declared an Archaeological Site by a decree of the Andalusian Regional Government. Most importantly, the amphitheatre was used as The Dragonpit in the finale to season seven which saw Cersei Lannister face up to Jon Snow and Danaerys Targaryen. The ruins are about a half hour bus ride away on the M170 which is a local bus you can catch from the main bus station at the Plaza D’Armas up to every 15 minutes for €1.60. Keep gazing out of the window as the rolling hills on the approach through the village of Camas can be likened to those in Gladiator and you can see why the Romans took a fancy.

The Amphitheatre at the Italica ruins in Santiponce

The amphitheatre as it appeared as The Dragonpit

Danaerys Targaryen as featured in The Dragonpit

The same spot in the amphitheatre

The entrance to the amphitheatre was also used to feature The Hound

The entrance to the amphitheatre as depicted in the show

If large, open-air arenas are your thing then you should also visit the bullring at Plaza de Toros in Osuna which was Danzak’s Fighting Pit in Meereen in episode nine of series five when Daenerys Targaryen escaped on the the back of her dragon, Drogon, after an ambush attack by the Sons of the Harpy. You will have to imagine the dragon but the bullring itself dates from 1904 and is one of the widest and most prestigious in Spain, still seating around 5000 spectators. Osuna is about 85 minutes away on a coach from Plaza de San Sebastian and costs €8 one-way, though you could get the roomy, air conditioned train for €3 more. The train trip is also a far cry from Britain’s equivalent as the ticket price stays consistent and the Renfe train itself even comes with vending machines.

The Bullring at Plaza Del Toros in Osuna

Filming the bullring as Danzak’s Fighting Pit

The sheer variety of historical landmarks combined with it’s easy accessibility and warm climate make Seville a great destination for a mini-break. Given the brutal history that the Andaluscian capital has endured makes it a no-brainer that the city was chosen to masquerade as Dorne and Meereen. Even without your own dragon, there are few better cities to immerse yourself in the show.

Safari Bingo at The Maasai Mara

A safari trip to the Maasai Mara must be pretty high up many bucket lists and mine is no different. Kenya’s most famous national park is teeming with wildlife and you have probably already seen it without realising. Those migrating herds of wildebeest charging across river banks, trying desperately to avoid the waiting crocodiles with commentary provided by David Attenborough. That would be the Mara River during The Great Migration as thousands of wildebeest travel from the Serengeti in Tanzania to the Mara in Kenya between July and October, I went to see what all the fuss was about.

The first thing that strikes you about the Maasai Mara is its sheer vastness. Ideally this is best seen from above and there are regular flights out from Nairobi to ‘the bush’. I booked with Safarilink which has two daily flights out to Maasai Mara from Nairobi’s Wilson Airport. You COULD drive out for 5-6 hours yet flying in a thirteen seater Cessna Caravan was an experience I was not going to pass up. This remains the closest I am likely to get to a private jet, albeit for an hour long flight so I sat right at the front and gazed at the confusing flight instruments. About as close as you can get to sitting with the pilot.

Cessna Caravan

From a few hundred feet in the air you can clearly see the herds of zebras, wildebeest and giraffes meander across the plains. Then there is the topography of lush greens, pale browns intersected with ravines. Not a skyscraper or car park in sight, and you can barely make out the runways below.

Our destination was the third and final stop making the plane the equivalent of a long-distance shuttle bus. As the plane homed in on Mara Keekorok there was clearly no terminal, no duty-free and no café; merely a local market ran by tribes members and a hut which acted as an admission gate to the park itself. Ah yes, the fees. For tourists the cost is $70USD per day which seems excessive but this is far better than your average day at the zoo.

We were picked up by our two kindly, knowledgeable guides; Korbin and Benson, and soon enough we were away on our first safari trip. A bright lizard sunning itself on a rock and a lion family lazing under a sausage tree were our immediate highlights. After a couple of hours we arrived at Simba Lodge and were given a hearty welcome. The rooms are mainly constructed out of wood which blends into the surroundings. There are the usual trappings of a hotel room with a kettle, shower room and comfy double bed. Most impressively, the room featured an outside balcony overlooking the stream below. We really were in the middle of the bush as a hippo was enjoying the late afternoon sun on the opposite bank, only an electrified fence separated me from the wildlife. The monkeys were still lolling around the swimming pool though.

In order to best see the majesty of the bush it is best to get there early. With my mobile alarm set I woke to the sound of birdsong, surely the best wake-up call on Planet Earth as Attenborough would say. Then watched as the red morning light diffused from sunrise. What became obvious over the next few days was the familiarity of the bush. On the first morning we were greeted with a family of giraffes mingling with zebras. We soon found out that due to the successful policing of the poachers the animals really did not mind us. Giraffes stared at us with a vague interest then continued munching on foliage. Strangely, considering their prevalent role in The Lion King, warthogs and meerkats were easily the shyest of animals we encountered.

As far as action went we looked to have had narrowly missed a cheetah catching his dinner as a fresh wildebeest corpse soon had its ribs exposed. On another morning all appeared serene as a pack of zebras grazed on one side of the road. On the other side a lion cub slowly crept over the brow scouting for breakfast and suddenly the zebras were on high alert. Likely due to the interests of public decency we vacated the area to let nature play its gory course.

On several occasions we were late to the action yet even then you could see the inner workings of the bush. When the chase was over and the hunters had had their fill the other predators join in. Before carrion becomes toxic the vultures actually play a responsible role in the bush’s upkeep. Rotting corpses can pollute the land and poison wildlife, before that happens the vultures pick the bones clean. The ecosystem in perfect harmony.

With the safari trip itself ticked off the bucket list, the next list was The Big Five or, as I like to call it, Safari Bingo. On the first day I had managed to scratch off an African lion, elephant and cape buffalo. Feeling pretty smug with a solid afternoon of safari spotting we soon went off-road. Of course, we were not the only transport on the plains as Korbin and Benson slowed down to excitedly talk to another guide. They could have been discussing the latest boxset or what they were having for dinner such is my lowly grasp of Swahili. Soon enough we edged off-road and thankfully there was a reason to suffer all those bumps. The sun was going down and soon enough we would have to have departed the park and got back for dinner. Yet the reward far outweighed the risk, within a few minutes our guide pointed into the trees and a dark grey silhouette could be seen. At last count there were three rhinos on the Mara, somehow in the 1,510 km² vastness we had managed to spot one. Only when I realised how unlikely our encounter was did I really begin to treasure it. Our return to the lodge was innocuous enough, until we mentioned the rhino. Some workers had been at the lodge for months, maybe years without seeing one, we had only been there for a few hours. The bingo card was nearly complete and the first day had ended with a buffet dinner including dessert, I was on holiday after all.

The second day was more of the same but I could appreciate how the Mara changes during the day. From mating calls and playfighting Gazelles in the morning to herds of wildebeest minding their own business. On the second day  I took a break from the wildlife to visit the natives. The Maasai tribe inhabit southern Kenya and are resident on the game parks. Indeed, the nearest tribe was pretty much next door to the lodge and for the afternoon we got to know their local customs. We were welcomed with the males bouncing to a rhythm and soon learnt about their cattle and goat herds. Their leader, James, spoke faultless English as my Mother asked about their interaction with the wider world; the internet, education and inoculations. We were then shown their clay huts, means of making fire and a herbal remedy for all ailments which made for an insightful afternoon.

On our final day we had a full day safari with a picnic and ventured a bit further. A thunderstorm had left mud patches across the terrain which had mainly dried out during the morning. However, by early afternoon some mud remained meaning many transports got stuck and part of the entertainment was cheering them get towed out. As we got closer to the Mara river the sheer volume of wildebeest kept mounting up but we had missing The Great Crossing as the hippos, crocodiles and Egyptian geese looked kinda bored. There was one vacant box on my Safari Bingo card and with a few hours left I managed to tick it off as we spotted a leopard lazing up a tree. I felt like shouting ‘BINGO’ but that would have woken him then scared him off.

The final morning was also my birthday yet I kept this quiet to enjoy the majesty of the bush waking up. The giraffes and zebras grabbing their breakfast, the wildebeest slowly meandering across the plains and the lions huddling as a family. Well worth a trip, even if it isn’t on your bucket list.

General Election 2017. I Still Believe In This Country, But Not Under This Current Government.

Let me begin with a disclaimer, politics is not really my thing. Yes, I take an interest in how this country is run and how, in general, the world is becoming increasingly ridiculous. I also know people who are a lot more articulate when it comes to understanding and explaining affairs of state. Most of us get our facts from the media but my patience for impartial news is wearing thin to the extent that I do not believe it exists anymore. Since a young age I have have maintained this heavy scepticism, especially when newspapers and television become our primary sources of information when election coverage ramps up.

My main concern lies in an estimated ¾ of the current mainstream media in the UK being privately owned, ergo I don’t believe most of what is being printed being anything close to objective. The Government had an opportunity to investigate the media but dropped the Leveson II Inquiry. I do not believe the media were let off the hook without a compromise, a government able to ignore unwanted facts is a prerogative of unchallenged power. Avoid headlines. Read the manifestos and make up your own mind.

Even then it can be difficult to try to find the common good amongst all the promises. I find it easier to present politics as a fairytale; good v evil, The Force v The Dark Side, government for the few v government for the many. Thomas Jefferson saw it as a battle between aristocrats and democrats. The aristocrats are ‘those who fear and distrust the people, and wish to draw all powers from them into the hands of the higher classes.’ The democrats ‘identify with the people, have confidence in them, cherish and consider them as the most honest and safe.’ Once you realise how nepotistic the media is and concentrate on policies the picture becomes a little clearer. Judging by the recently published manifestos, it is not difficult to work out which party fits which description in this general elections and why I still believe in this country, but only if the current government was removed.

I believe in a £9 p/h minimum wage and a tax freeze promise on wages for those earning less than £80,000.

I do not believe in zero hour contracts.

I believe in eradicating rough sleeping and raising corporation tax to £26bn. I also believe in Excessive Pay Leverage, in taxing the top 5% and those earning over £80,000. I also believe in giving HMRC more teeth to go after UK companies who plough their profits into tax havens. The rich must pay their dues before a social crisis.

I believe in renationalising the trains and bringing them back under Government control. I also believe in free wifi on trains and freezing rail fare prices before reducing them gradually while investing in infrastructure. Over £100 to visit London before 9am is for the few, not the many.

I believe in renationalising Royal Mail and the National Grid.

I believe in scrapping university tuition fees, a higher education should be a right and not a privilege. However, the Tories have announced plans to fund new free schools (academies and grammar schools) by raising tuition fees. The Conservative manifesto states; “We will make it a condition for universities hoping to charge maximum tuition fees to become involved in academy sponsorship or the founding of free schools”. Universities themselves are concerned, Pam Tatlow, Chief Executive of MillionPlus, the Association for Modern Universities, said “Universities need higher tuition fees simply because the government has cut their funding by over 80 per cent. If the fees of students are used to get more academies and free schools off the ground, this would be like robbing Peter to pay Paul but it would also side-line local parents and governors who might prefer to work with other sponsors.”

Meanwhile, free school meals for children from lower income families would be scrapped despite thousands spent on kitchens. In effect, our education system is becoming a system of entitlement.  To put figures into perspective, Tories gave a £100k tax cut p/a to 13,000 millionaires while they are removing school meals from the mouths of 900,000 kids. Dickensian.

I do not believe in a new Dementia tax for the elderly. This would mean elderly people who are receiving social care to fund the entire cost until they reached the last £100,000 of assets which the state would allow them to keep. Of course, the Tories have now made a u-turn but their intention was clear; taxing the vulnerable. The u-turn itself is also telling, going back on a repugnant proposal only because going through with it would cost them votes. The Tories even bought up Google advertisements to try and hide the ‘dementia tax’ as if the blunder was all but a figment of our imagination.

I also believe in maintaining the triple lock state pension guarantee and means-testing of winter fuel payments up to £300. I believe in caring for the elderly, not stripping them.

I believe in a properly funded NHS with free car parking, not one involving private consultancies. I also believe in restoring nurses’ training bursaries. I do not believe in dismantling the NHS piece by piece. I do not believe Jeremy Hunt has a conscience.

I do not believe in the loss of Disability Living Allowance. I do not believe in the rise of food banks. I do not believe in starving the poor and the needy.

I believe in a new Minister for Mental Health.

I do not believe in Boris Johnson as a functioning adult, can you imagine him negotiating with the EU as Foreign Secretary? The alternative is Keir Starmer LLB, QC and Barrister who is Shadow Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union. A man with actual experience of persuasion in a court of law. No-brainer.

I believe in interest-free loans for homeowners to improve property.

I do not believe in unethical arms exports to the likes of Saudi Arabia, not with their human rights record.

I believe in banning the UK ivory trade, the Tories removed that pledge from their manifesto. Horrifying.

I do not believe in borrowing over £700bn over seven years with zero investment.

I do not believe in taking the internet under government control but a toughening up of punishments for online abuse.

I do not believe in fox hunting, Theresa May does.

I believe in renewable energy and clean air, not fracking. Germany has it right, not wholesale nationalisation but letting councils decide how to supply their energy and not relying on a few providers.

Strong and stable? What about the weak and vulnerable? I believe in fairness, I shall be voting Labour.

Katie Hopkins – The High School Bully Given The Airtime She Desperately Craves

Let it be known that this has proven to be one of the hardest things I have ever committed to page. Put bluntly, there are certain people that should never be given the oxygen of publicity, the banteriffic Dapper Laughs as a recent example. Katie Hopkins also falls into this category and I am reminded of that luminous pink slime in Ghostbusters 2 which gets stronger the more hate it receives. I really do not want her to be an inspiration for anything, let alone my own writing, yet the poisonous witch is on her own personal crusade to inspire people to lose weight. Or so she thinks.

Any publicity is good publicity but I really do not want to help promote her dangerous new show, ‘Katie Hopkins: My Fat Story’. This is a woman who craves attention like The Daily Mail designs hate-fuelled headlines. A brief synopsis then; woman goes from 8st 12lb to 11st 13lb and back again to prove how easy it is to lose weight. No surprises that this is due to air in the first week of January when many are ruing those extra treats during the festive period. To have Hopkins choose to pile on the pounds to then smugly declare how easy it is to lose the weight is close to insulting yet she has history here.

Alarm bells should be ringing that her initial claim to fame came from The Apprentice, a show that rewards selfish, egotistical behaviour with a bumper business deal. This is a woman who really does not care what people think of her and seems to revel in the hatred that her poisonous views provoke. Anyone that can anger Holly Willoughby has to be a special case.

Let’s just check out some quotes from the show shall we –
Re: putting the weight on she said, “After I put on my first stone, I stopped having sex with my husband. As a fat bird, I stuck to my pyjamas and getting naked in the dark. A fat belly is not an attractive thing, fat people aren’t sexy”. This is to paint a poisonous picture of what the ‘universally perfect body’ is (hint, it doesn’t exist). There is a significant proportion of men who fail to find skinny girls sexy, are you going to try and persuade them otherwise Katie?

Later on she said, “It is just ridiculous what people do to themselves. Fat people, I mean I really I don’t know how they look at themselves in the mirror.” So ‘fat-shaming is in and beauty is not in the eye of the beholder then apparently. What this also spectacularly fails to note is that despite what Hopkins may hope, a significant amount of obese people are actually comfortable in their own skins, presumably by the support of their loved ones who actually do like seeing them naked.

According to Hopkins; “Being fat is hard work. You can’t be that fat and happy. If you’re too lazy to make a change then you’re going to be fat.” This is a mercilessly naïve statement which fails to address those that really do want to lose weight but for various reasons struggle. Some suffer from low metabolism rates as well as low self-esteem after trying various diets and not losing much weight. Some are suffering from crippling bouts of depression and find it hard to face the world, let alone go out for a run. Some lack the skills and time to cook healthy, nutritious meals for themselves.

If Hopkins really wanted to encourage obese people to lose weight she would, hopefully, be displaying a modicum of compassion. She would at least be trying to be helpful and sympathetic to obese people, maybe come up with a few healthy eating recipes of her own. Presumably we have seen this before and gotten bored of such noble behaviour from the likes of Jamie Oliver. Yet however disturbing her views on obese people are her methods are worryingly flawed, rapid fluctuations in weight have been proven as dangerous on the body, particularly the heart. Following Hopkins’ example is certainly not encouraged by any health practitioner.

Hopkins has the assumption that obesity is caused by apathy. In 2012 she told an obese woman that she wouldn’t employ her because fat people are lazy. This documentary is her chance to prove the misguided view that obese people are unwilling to lose weight. That is disputable, it can be incredibly difficult for a lot of people, it was for me.

Back in 2005 I was forced off alcohol and decided to go on a diet to lose some much needed weight. I had the time and know-how to cook my own meals but the most important thing was that I had the moral support of friends and family. The last thing I would have wanted was to see some smug TV personality tell me it’s easy. This isn’t an attack on freedom of speech, rather an attack on the editors and TV executives that allow her to be heard. Everyone is entitled to their view yet Hopkins is the high-school bully gifted a dangerous amount of publicity. The real contempt should not be aimed directly at her but at the media that continues to give her airtime.

Train Travel: A Truly British Acceptance of Mediocrity

It was announced today that the UK is spending more on financing inequality in favour of the rich than anywhere else in Europe. It does not take long to see that inequality in operation. In a classic case of class warfare, you only need to try to get from A to B to realize how miserable a place this is for the general public. The Prime Minister himself cannot bear the thought of travelling by train, so he takes a jet instead. A fine example of how the other half lives if ever there was one. 

While there always tends to be room in first class, most British citizens willingly accept mediocrity when it comes to travelling by train. Especially in the Midlands and the North.

Good Luck Finding A Seat

Just try to get around in the UK and you will find mediocrity without much bother. I caught a train from Stoke-on-Trent to Birmingham at the weekend. That should not be too difficult, a direct train between two prominent locations on the rail network. Alas, it proved memorable for all the wrong reasons. Even booking the tickets is such an ordeal as prices fluctuate between operating companies, routes, and the time of day so get out a pen and paper before you commit. 

There are simpler, easier, more effective rail systems, and you can find them in abundance in mainland Europe. Just book a cheap flight (far easier than getting a train ticket) to find out how rail transport can be done, almost effortlessly. 

On a trip to the Basque Country in Northern Spain, I could buy an inexpensive travel pass to cover my excursions from the French border to San Sebastián and onto Bilbao. Even in the cities themselves, whether on the train or on the bus. While the UK pussyfoots around committing to a high-speed train line (known colloquially as HS2), Spain has recently invested in ‘Y-Basque’, a civil engineering project to link the Basque Country closer to the rest of the country and France. Improving on an already successful transport network, imagine that.

Even without the project, I was pretty much guaranteed a seat as I made my way across Northern Spain. On my connecting train from Bordeaux, the Wi-Fi was a comparative marvel and I had an allocated seat with not a single individual standing in the aisle. I was even told off for standing in the wrong position to board the train. 

Further afield, in Australia, they have so many vacant seats that they can play around with them. Double-decker trains with two levels of seating should feel revolutionary alone. Then you consider the reversible seats which you can simply move to and fro. Create a six-seater arrangement for you and your mates or have a row for you and your loved ones. No, in the UK we are simply elated to be able to sit down.

Compare that to my experience on Sunday on Crosscountry Trains when I was lucky that the train was not cancelled yet: 

• I was forced to stand for over an hour in a dangerously overcrowded train amongst pensioners and children. 
• There was no room for wheelchairs or prams. 
• There were no checks for my outbound ticket rendering the whole ordeal of booking and paying for the journey rather pointless.

When the public services are so dire you couldn’t possibly imagine anyone needing assistance to dare try it, then you know you’re in trouble.

How Failing UK Railways Fund The Rest Of Europe’s Rail Networks

It should be so much easier yet privatisation has scuppered any tangible chances of investment due to outright greed. Where you could imagine vacant seats, numerous trains every hour on busy routes, well-paid staff, and reasonably priced tickets, shareholders are the only victors. Shareholders that likely would not dare risk buying a ticket to mingle with the masses. That and Europeans. 

Yes, that’s right. While British taxpayers are expected to pay exorbitant train fares to (hopefully) get a seat, they can expect to see the profits diverted from improving their own rail network to funding those in other European countries. There’s even an advert mocking the situation. Nice one, privatisation. 

Billions of British taxpayer money has gone to European rail companies. Effectively, they own vast parts of the UK rail network and see it as a great investment. Overcrowded trains full of passengers paying through the nose, makes sense. Arriva Trains operates London Overground, CrossCountry, and Chiltern Railways amongst others. The company was owned by the German government, which has recently sold it to a global infrastructure investment manager. So it’s now unclear who directly benefits, yet Arriva remains a strong investment as fares go up and up.

While the chances of failing to find a seat in Spain or France are slim, you imagine that our European counterparts would not stand for it (pun unintended). Comparatively, trains in mainland Europe are frequent, reliable, clean, affordable, and comfortable. The stations are well-populated with staff and few envisage them without ticket offices, as was planned in the UK. Many European cities also have integrated railway airports, unlike the UK where you need to plan ahead if you dare want to catch a flight too.

Failing To Invest

While other countries have prioritised their rail networks, Britain is stuck in the dark ages. Instead of being bold with investment and embarking on high-speed trains to catch up, the costs have spiralled leaving the HS2 project in limbo with much of the building work half-done. Swathes of countryside are simply left gaping for a rail project with little sign of resuscitation. Another example of class warfare where the Northern Powerhouse is left languishing amid a doubling-down of a failed ‘levelling up’ agenda. 

A farm in Warwickshire has even suffered flooding due to the part-building of HS2. Destruction of British nature and agricultural land at the expense of a rail project that may not even happen. The whole project reeks of a lack of foresight and a distinct lack in duty of care.

The Embarrassment Of HS2

Cancelling HS2 is rightly embarrassing when you consider how the rest of the world operates.  If you can afford to pay for the rail season ticket, can you afford to be regularly late or not even get to work at all due to a train strike? Consider the same scenario in Japan, where a ‘delay certificate’ is issued should your train be late. Few have seen such certificates as it happens so rarely.

Japanese Delay Certificate

Getting a train on an occasional basis is enough of an ordeal yet employees and their businesses have lost out on what could have been. Aside from the later-than-scheduled (and now non-existent) investment in ambition that HS2 represents, there is the wider cost to business confidence and how foreign investment can be put off. You can easily see why businesses would be scared to invest in Northern cities like Manchester and Liverpool when transport links are so poor. 

There’s a significant sense of dread when it comes to travelling by train in the UK. That anxious look at the board to check that 1. Your train is still running and 2. It’s running on time. If the train does arrive then there is further anticipation to gauge how crowded it will be onboard. Chances are, you will already see passengers standing up rendering your chances of sitting down slim to none. Actually gaining a seat on a train should not be a cause for celebration, it should be the bare minimum.

A failure to invest in improving the rail network is another truly British example of accepting mediocrity. Put it alongside an NHS in permacrisis, crumbling pavements, potholed roads, inflation-hit groceries, and stagnating wages for the public sector. According to co-executive director of the Equality Trust, Priya Sahni-Nicholas, “Inequality has made the UK more unhealthy, unhappy and unsafe than our more equal peers“. Give us some hope so we no longer have to accept such mediocrity.

What Movember Means To Me: Improving Men’s Health By Growing A Moustache

This year will be my 12th as a Mo Bro, the title given to men participating in Movember. It’s this month when my social media profiles become dedicated to the cause. The month when I openly advocate selfies to show my ‘mogress’. Movember also gives me something to focus on while the rest of my peers look to prematurely slip into the 12 Days of Christmas.

When I first began taking part in Movember in Australia in 2011, it seemed like a fun way to grow a moustache to raise some money for men’s health. Over time, Movember has become less of an effort and more of an obligation due to how much I need to look out for my own mental health. Gradually, I have learned how vital men’s health initiatives are to helping look out for men and their mental health.

Funding Men’s Health Initiatives

According to Movember, the world loses a man to suicide every minute of every day. Just let that sink in for a moment, maybe even 60 of them. As the annual event has evolved, there has been notable progress in how men’s health is discussed. That’s not to say enough is being done yet the work has started.

Movember recognises that by assisting men in building stronger social connections, they can get the help they need to reduce risk of suicide. These are typically ingenious projects that put men into a social support network. It could be a Men’s Pie Club which focuses on men in the middle age bracket who may otherwise struggle to form fulfilling friendships. Not the ones that spend most of their weekend in the pub but the ones where you openly discuss what’s going on in their lives, much like women do. They also take home delicious pies and I’m privately hoping the project makes its way south from the North East of England.

Of course, influencers are a great way in to getting people to listen. Crucially, Movember has reached out to men who garner a huge social media following. Men I actively admire like the former Manchester United left-back, Patrice Evra. In a series of nine videos entitled ‘Deep Issue Massage‘, the comedian, Munya Chawawa, helps to gently remove the stigma that can surround men’s health. The men are also getting a massage which is a clever way of both letting them relax and demonstrate how men can open up in certain situations.

Coping With My Mental Health

A few years ago, I was diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Essentially, when the clocks go back and the nights close in, my mental health suffers. I’m still poor at discussing it until I hit the lows of feeling worthless as depression takes a hold yet I am trying. It’s become easier to realise when SAD is making itself known yet it is important to recognise the signs amongst your fellow men. The gender tends to fixate on alpha personas and definitions of manhood that simply do not allow mental health to be discussed which is problematic and self-defeating in itself.

Movember look to challenge this issue with Spot The Signs, an online campaign dedicated to reaching out. These can be subtle indicators: increased irritability, losing interest in the things they are typically excited about, and a struggle to sleep. During winter, I pretty much tick every box yet it can seem that everything is A-ok when I know it isn’t. That’s the problem, as men mask their inner emotions their mental health is only going to deteriorate.

Since moving from Sheffield, I have left most of my male friends behind yet have become privy to a close, arty friendship group in my area. You can tell the difference with women as I have met so many strong and determined ones. They know how to check up on themselves and others which, I’m afraid, is a skill men are still evolving to learn. It can be something simple like pulling your mate away at a party just to simply ask them how they’re doing. Seeing if they want to go for a walk or maybe even consider if they are enjoying the match as much as usual.

There are some great initiatives out there yet knowing how to talk to a fellow man can be difficult. Even asking about their mental health can seem like an invasion of privacy and a judgemental inference into their manhood. I’ve been struck recently by the advert unveiled by the English football club, Norwich City. It’s only a couple of minutes long and the twist at the end gets me every time. Some men are far better at hiding their inner turmoil than others which seems like a skill in itself yet is often to the detriment of their mental health.

The Obligation To Move

One of the ways that I help improve my mental health is through movement. It’s this time of year when we all pretty much become gluttons. That tub of Quality Street sits on the table enticing you for a treat every time your eyes set upon it. A cheeseboard becomes a meal, we start the day with a piece of chocolate, and that extra glass of mulled wine tends to become the norm. It’s also the time of year when I succumb to creating an order of around ten beers just because they are festively themed and why the hell not it’s Christmas?

As much as I’m aware of this extra calorific intake, I try to combat it with more exercise. Thankfully, Movember has this as part of their offering too with ‘Move For Mental Health‘, The premise is quite simple, as 60 men are lost to suicide every hour, you cover 60km in the month. You can walk the distance or cover it by running, perhaps even a mixture of both. I’ve been a member of a local running club for the last couple of years and that does help get me out of the door. Not only do I get that 60km covered pretty quickly, I also get some fresh air, either make new friends, or catch up with the ones I know. In the space of just over an hour, I have covered 10km and feel a lot better about myself than I would lounging on the sofa.

There is a simple sense of accomplishment on every run I undertake at the moment. It may take me a little longer to get out of bed and leave the house during the winter yet once I take that first step, my mind clears and I start to see some sense in the world. Running may be one of those few occasions when my overthinking mind actually calms down as I focus on my route and my surroundings. I also start to come up with ideas as the creative side of my brain makes itself heard.

While the moustache has become the norm in November, it should act as a reminder to open up about men’s health. Though I do look good with it, this crucial bit of facial hair and the pin badge on my jacket are succinct reminders for men that it’s ok to not feel ok. Open up to your mates or be the one to check up on someone in your friendship group you may not have seen in a while.

If you want to keep track of my movements (in a non-creepy way) then you can check out my Strava. At the time of writing, I only have 16 more kilometres to go. You can also see my ‘mogress’ on Instagram. Finally, please donate at my Mospace to help fund men’s health initiatives and suicide prevention programs

SAD: Maintaining Control and Low Expectations

One of the aspects of Seasonal Affective Disorder I’ve come to work with is my own expectations. Of how I can best manage my mental health during the winter by staving away negativity. A lot of it boils down to keeping my expectations low so I can best cope with disappointment. One drawback is maintaining control and how easily things can go awry.

It doesn’t take long for depression to spiral. Even reaching a point where it seems that everything is fine can be highly dangerous. Getting comfortable with mental health takes a lot of time and anxiety plays a major role. In certain circumstances it can be a double-edged sword. Reaching a sense of comfort is almost inviting the question of ‘Ok. Things are good now but it’s only a matter of time before something goes wrong. Just you wait’. Wait long enough and it will happen.

That something can be anything which is one of the things I have come to accept. If you expect that things will go wrong, once they do you fail to feel devastated. At the moment I’m trying my best to manage my expectations by keeping them brutally low. Even if my expectations are exceeded, such is the low self-esteem that I fail to believe them or something must have gone wrong for it to happen.

Every Monday I try to put something in my calendar to look forward to each day. That could be some baking I want to do, a film I want to see at the cinema, an evening going with the running club or simply a meal I want to have. These should be achievable yet I should know better than to expect that they are. Perhaps I won’t have the right ingredients or I won’t be able to get to the cinema (or the cinema will be closed due to ‘technical difficulties’ which did happen last week). I cannot control the weather yet even then I feel like adverse conditions are my fault. Storm Barra is totally down to me.

Yesterday and today have been bad days. I’ve realised they were going to be bad days early in the morning which does help somewhat. There are some days that you simply wake up and know that everything is going to be a struggle. My anxiety is heightened and my low mood feels like the walls are caving in. Even then I should expect the day to be a write-off yet I keep plodding on when I should signal for help. Perhaps I should have a badge or a status update that simply reads, ‘Having one of those days, just don’t’. The worst thing that can happen is for something to go wrong. It could be anything, even the most trivial thing. A dropped mug, a disagreement over the amount of noise or a piece of bad news.

Today I’ve stayed in all day which has not helped. The weather was miserable this morning and by the time the sun was out I’d had an argument that meant I’d lost all focus for an hour or two. That should have been the ideal time to go out yet even then my morale was at the floor. ‘You know it’s going to rain, don’t you’. I shouldn’t listen to the nagging voice in my head but occasionally it wins.

Depression can also mask over achievements. A feeling of worthlessness can pour a level of thick tar over the shiniest of trophies. Take the last few weeks for example. This time last week I hit £500 in my fundraising for Movember which is a staggering amount of money. I should be ecstatic that so many people donated to men’s health just because I grew a moustache. Even then I failed to fully embrace how big an achievement it was due to that sense that it was undeserved. I’ve also managed to secure huge interviews for my book and still I’m worried that my writing is terrible, that someone will beat me to publishing and what’s the point in it all anyway?

Ah yes, THAT question. The worst question of them all which lies at the crux of my low expectations. I’m yet to reach the point of remaining in bed all day yet if I’m struggling in the run-up to Christmas it’s not looking good for January, folks. There should be a point to everything I do. I have a job that means I can write all day. I have people who want to be around me. I’ve written over 200,000 words for a book that I’m interested in. I should count myself lucky yet depression clouds all judgment.

What is the point in getting out of bed when you’re going to make mistakes?

What is the point in telling someone not to do something when they will inevitably do it and that’ll only disappoint you?

What is the point in going outside when it’s going to rain?

What is the point in decorating a Christmas tree when someone might not like it?

What is the point in baking Mince Pie Bakewell Squares when no-one is going to appreciate them and you’re going to get fat from eating them?

Tomorrow I’ll be pleased if I can simply manage the basics hour on hour. Get up. Get showered. Get dressed. Anything past that is a bonus.

SAD: Alone With Everybody

One of the hardest aspects of Seasonal Affective Disorder is telling yourself that everything is ok, when it clearly is not. As much as you want to act ‘normally’, the dark thoughts pervade your thinking and attempt to control your mindset. A week in, I’m trying to force myself to break the cycle.

Social Life

Being with others should take me away from my own head. In theory. On Tuesday night I went out with the running club followed by the monthly social in the pub (free chip sandwiches FTW). Even during the run I felt out of sorts. I tend to run alone in a group as I struggle to hold a conversation while trying to catch my breath yet this was different. Worse. I went out of my way not to make conversation when the opportunities arose then hoped no-one noticed. I showered, changed and took some homemade Parkin to the social in an attempt to force myself to get some attention and remove myself from my own head. Taking my seat at the end of the table I took in the compliments then… listened to everyone’s conversation. There’s a telling aspect about SAD that even in social situations it can render you helpless. The worthless thoughts micromanaging each sentence as they’re being formed to render them pointless. I sat there in silence, watching everyone else’s conversations wondering why I couldn’t contribute, why I couldn’t get a word in, why I was even there. I flitted in and out of my own head until I realised it was simply too awkward to sit there so made my excuses that I could watch The Great British Bake Off on +1.

With Saturday night approaching I really want to see some fireworks yet I know I’ll fail to persuade anyone to come. I have asked yet I’m being left on read, which is hardly surprising, I’d not to want to be in my own company at the moment either. Perhaps a long walk to watch fireworks from a distance is the best I can hope for and the most I should expect.

Daily Habits

Sleep has become increasingly important and I’m becoming stringent in going to bed at a reasonable hour, essentially when I’m tired at around 11pm. Even at weekends I’m up at 7am; stretch then grab a cup of black tea and a pint of filtered water. Keeping it simple and counting it as an achievement if I can maintain it day on day. I’m also trying to keep myself active, the running club is proving invaluable to my mental (and physical) health yet so is simply going outside for a walk around lunchtime. Regular mealtimes, podcasts and my ongoing Duolingo streak and also daily achievements. The Saturday Night Drinking Binge is also being put on hold, there’s something painfully pathetic about drinking alone in the house.

Planning Ahead

Week on week I’m trying to fill my calendar. Even if that’s a regular occurrence such as running club or Parkrun, if it’s an activity I can put in then it’s going in. There are certain events that give me something to look forward to like the cinema, a gig or an annual event like Bonfire Night. However, if my current social life continues to go the way it’s going then Movie Nights and Batch Cooking may become increasingly frequent entries. Then there’s Movember, my annual distraction from SAD by growing a moustache to raise money for men’s health. If a moustache can grab some attention then those pervading thoughts may take a sideline.

Five Reasons Why The Pandemic Won’t End Soon

Oh, hey there blog. Long time no see. I know I said I wanted to keep a regular diary throughout this ordeal but obviously my spirit hasn’t been committed enough to type out my thoughts. Not that they’ve been wholly different day to day. Six months in and not a lot has changed, though I have made some notes.

This seems as appropriate a time to post my latest pandemic thoughts. The President of the United States of America (I cannot bear to type his name) and the First Lady have both tested positive for COVID-19. Karma, irony, schadenfreude, call it what you will. There are few 74 years olds who deserve to discover exactly what the fuss is with this virus. He’s a special case though. For someone who has blithely, arrogantly dismissed the virus, this feels fair. Such damaging behaviour is also just one of the reasons why this pandemic will be here for a long, long time, certainly in the UK.

1. ‘No mask? No problem.’

For lockdown restrictions to be truly effective during a pandemic, they need to be fully enforced from the top. As seen in the UK with the fallout from Dominic Cummings’ sojourn to Durham Castle, Boris Johnson’s father being caught shopping without a mask and Margaret Ferrier’s reckless trip, if you’re involved in government, or closely related to the Prime Minister, you can do pretty much whatever the fuck you want. Even if it means endangering the health of your family and the general public. Breaking lockdown restrictions for them seems to come with few, if any, consequences. Cummings failed to even utter an apology, Stanley Johnson was ‘extremely sorry’ yet escaped without a fine, Ferrier has lost the whip and remains an MP. If any of them were handed the customary £200 fine or fired it would set an example to the public that the government is taking this pandemic seriously and rules would be applied to all. That none of these individuals has even been fined sets a dangerous precedent that no fucks are to be given. Essentially, those who cannot be bothered to wear a mask suddenly have examples of why they should get away with it.

2. Government Ministers. Do your job and do it well

In a time when we should be; 

• Looking after our youth for the disruption of their education, the government saw fit to punish those who were due to sit exams, specifically those who needed a better chance as the come from disadvantaged backgrounds. There were warnings about how systematically prejudiced the algorithms were, yet these were ignored. Somehow the Education Secretary kept his job.
• Rolling out a ‘world beating’ Track and Trace system, the Health Secretary cannot even manage an adequate testing system that logs test results. 
• Accepting being called out for failures, he couldn’t even face fair criticism without labelling it as ‘divisive’ thus creating enough noise to deflect the concern. 

3. Lack of Spatial Awareness

When I cast my mind back a few months I can recall ‘the swerve’, when pedestrians got out of the way of each other when crossing paths. For reasons unbeknown to me, this no longer occurs. Did I miss the memo that social distancing was pointless? Is everyone wearing a mask? No. I can attest that a lot of people are bored with the restrictions, at being told to look out for one another yet we are in a pandemic, there is a greater good. There are the –

Pavement hogging pedestrians.

Those glued to their smartphones.

Those in the middle of a pavement as if playing a scene from ‘The Good, The Bad and The Ugly’ daring the other to move to the side first (me, every time).

There have been times when I’ve wanted to shout out loud, ‘IS THAT A METRE APART?’ to passersby when it’s me walking into the road to keep to a social distance. Do people understand the concept of social distancing, even single file?

When running it’s even worse. 

• It’s me who runs close to the pond to make room.
• It’s me who stops to make a gap for others to walk through.
• It’s me that gesticulates when a group of three runners jogs in line to block THE ENTIRE PATH.

Who wants a Pandemic PB anyway?

4. Anti-Maskers and The Nose Out Brigade

We’re in a global pandemic. There are simple guidelines to limit the spread of the virus. One of which is WEAR. A. MASK. It isn’t an infringement on human rights and you shouldn’t compare wearing a piece of cloth over your mouth to George Floyd’s death. He couldn’t breathe because a cop had his knee over his neck, you can still breath, Shauna. 

There are also those who simply fail to understand how to wear a mask, nor the basic workings of the respiratory system itself. The mask is designed to stop the transmission of the virus, just being in possession of one or simply having it dangle off your face isn’t going to cut it. If you’ve got your nose hanging out of the top you might as well not bother covering your mouth. Sad to say that on pretty much every single visit to my local market I’ve seen individuals either not wearing a mask, wearing one over their chin, failing to cover their nose or being told to put theirs on only to ignore an official. I’m not one for public humiliation but if the local council just DECIDED to enforce on the spot £20 fines for failing to wear a mask properly I’d be all for it.

5. ‘Great Britain’?

In the era of ‘fake news’ there is one thing I seem to have confirmed for myself, that the notion of Great Britain is dead. In fact, it’s been dead for decades. When was the last time Britain could call itself great? The summer of 1996 maybe? When Britpop ruled the charts and England were almost successful at a football tournament? It has taken a pandemic for this country to really show its worth. Though this is mere speculation there’s a certain belligerence and an arrogance that goes with failing to keep a social distance, failing to wear a mask, failing to do the bare minimum to prevent the spread of a pandemic. 

While there are countries on their way out of the pandemic it feels as if the UK is seriously lagging behind. The death tolls and the local lockdowns do not lie. Having travelled a few years ago, I’m pleased to see two of my favourite countries showing how to deal with the pandemic. New Zealand, mainly due to their decisive Prime Minister who actually prefers to keep her country’s population out of harm. Then there’s you, Australia, for being so far in the clear that you can allow crowds back into sports events. I wonder quite where Britain went wrong. Sure, I expected the Tories to be corrupt but not THIS incompetent. For anyone who knows their history and that of biological warfare may see the similarities between discharging coronavirus positive patients into care homes and the Mongol Siege of the City of Caffa. Only patients didn’t need to be catapulted in to spread a deadly virus. There’s also cancelling Eid with a few hours notice, could you imagine Christmas being cancelled with such ill-advised promptness? 

Of course, the government isn’t wholly to blame yet when the leadership is that problematic, the messaging that vague it inevitably leads to the public failing to cooperate. As the death toll rises and the economy tanks as Brexit looms, I wonder if Britain ever will be great again.

Self-Isolation Diary. Cheers, Dominic

What’s the easiest way to undermine lockdown restrictions? If you’re the Prime Minister’s chief aide then it’s driving 260 miles to visit your parents. In March. On the day that both the Prime Minister and Health Secretary test positive for coronavirus. While also likely showing symptoms of the virus yourself. Cheers, Dominic.

Did I miss the memo? While I’m struggling to retain my sanity there are several individuals quite flagrantly breaking the rules. It’s a glorious bank holiday weekend and while I’d love to pop to a friend’s house for a boozy bbq I know I can’t (or at least I really shouldn’t), even though it would immeasurably raise my spirits. People who know me should note that I’m a stickler for rules. They keep my brain and sense of decorum in check. Knowing that I CAN’T do something means I have a better understanding of what I CAN do. I can’t go to see my Mum or my friends. I can’t go out to see a girl, which has made the flat seem even more empty than it should have been during the last two nights.

But I can go on a morning walk with a cup of tea in a reusable vessel, call a friend, read outside, watch TV and films, go for a jog, join a friend on a bike ride, take photos of a deserted city centre, go to the supermarket and embark on a game of Pacman between aisles, shop online then anticipate the postman, bake then drop off a treat on someone’s doorstep. That’s pretty much it in the real world.

Discovering that a senior political adviser has broken the very rules he likely devised is a direct abuse of power. That he hasn’t lost his job only serves to show that if he can get away with it anyone can. Imagine how painful it must be for someone to suffer the loss of a loved one to the virus, not to be able to hold their hand, not to say goodbye. Then you see that news. I cannot.

For someone who’s been trying to so hard to adhere to the rules, that newsflash has only heightened my anxiety. Now I’m not even sure if the rules have any meaning anymore.

The last few days have been difficult. I’m trying to find the small joys while contained in my own mind (trying being the operative word when my mind seems to be getting darker). That film I’ve been meaning to watch on Netflix (Monos), a cold can of moderately priced lager with a well cooked homemade meal. Listening to a vinyl record while lying on my bed in the dark. Even a good night’s sleep, if I can get it.

Despite all this I’ve found myself on the brink of hot tears several times this weekend. I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps this is my mind’s own way of telling me it has had enough, that it’s fit to burst with worry. That stickly cough after eating dinner too fast might as well be COVID-19. Every slight is a blow to my very core of being and I must be better.

There’s also ‘productivity guilt’, that I should feel accomplished at doing the bare minimum though I admonish myself for not having done it sooner. That I should have completed a first draft of my book by now with all this spare time yet I’ve felt painfully out of sorts that creativity has largely escaped me.

Every action now seems coated in a veneer of disappointment. Going outside to read means shuddering from the shrieks of the neighbours’ kids or enduring an inane Zoom call. Going for a jog means having to give side eye to fellow joggers or pedestrian’s pathetic attempts at social distancing as I run in the road. As if the gesture itself, or even the notion of ‘single file’, has been forgotten. What’s the point anymore?

There’s a helplessness pertaining over my every move. A mental, if not physical, prison has been built that I cannot escape until I’m told it’s ok. I’ve shut myself off from friends, preferring to have my phone off or out of sight. If I don’t communicate I won’t make plans that people will renege on and I won’t read someone picking out the tiniest fault even though they mean well. Out of sight, out of mind.

At various times I’ve listened to a Spotify playlist. Every ten minutes or so Mark Strong breaks up my shuffle play with yet another ‘Message from the Government’. Despite his straight-laced, coldly professional voice there’s a fear that the words have been irretrievably weakened by Cummings’ actions.

Self-Isolation Diary. Day ‘Who Knows Anymore’?

I haven’t worn a watch in over a month as time is immaterial, irrelevant when every day bleeds into the next. A malaise has fallen over me, I can feel the cold hand of depression resting on my shoulder and a voice continually asking me, ‘What’s the point?’ Even I struggle to answer it sometimes as I force myself out of bed.

Despite this uncertainty, there is a telling sense of solidarity in the air, at least in Sheffield. They don’t call this place ‘The People’s Republic of South Yorkshire’ for nothing. When I go for a run I make eye contact and make an effort to nod with every passerby. Normally to ensure they keep a distance yet also to acknowledge them. That might be theirs and mine only social interaction of the day and I’ve heard a few ‘hellos’ over the din of my headphones. However, I haven’t missed several pairs of joggers assuming that social distancing doesn’t apply to them and their panting breaths. Single file isn’t that difficult a concept to understand, is it?

There’s little joys to be found here and there. My herb garden has begun to sprout and the weather has been blissful. I dropped off some baking at a cousin’s (partly due to guilt and partly so I didn’t gorge on those treats myself) who noted that the pandemic and the ensuing self-isolation felt like, ‘Nature was ringing the bell’. She’s likely right. Once this is over can any employer force their staff to commute into an office when they can do the same job sat in their pants in bed? Certainly, the air tastes cleaner and I can hear the birds louder than ever before, badgers have even been sighted in the city centre as wildlife claims the vacant land.

I’ve started to get up earlier for a morning walk with a cup of tea or coffee simply to ensure I do get some fresh air during the day while listening to a podcast that’s been gathering dust. My weird dreams have largely ceased or have ceased to be so unfathomably weird. Words continue to gather in some semblance of order for my book and the latest count is… 114, 380. There’s still minor work to be done on the structure, interviews to conduct, a teensy bit more research, enquiries to be made yet it feels like it’s coming together.

In less productive developments, I’ve finished reading an 800+ page book and knocked a few more films off my ‘to-watch’ list. I’m exercising every day; whether that be a run, kettlebell workout or following a video of Joe ‘Fitness Chimp’ Wicks. I can feel my mood lifted when I wipe my sweaty brow. My baking exploits continue, even if I am getting complaints that my social media posts are making people jealous and hungry (excuse me while I just go finish off that sourdough pizza). I’ve made a pact with myself to empty the freezer of food so I can fill it with food I can plan around. I’ll also order myself a curry at some point when I work out which restaurants remain open.

Joking aside, this is an ideal opportunity for personal development. The real test will be when this is finally over. How will interactions continue? I’ve matched with a couple of girls on social apps and this is a truly weird time for ‘dating’, if you can call it that. Because you can’t date. You can’t schedule a trip to the pub or even a walk to the pub so what can you do? Get to know the person intimately from instant messaging and maybe phone/video calls then hope that as soon as the restrictions are lifted you hit it off in person. Akin to a long distance relationship, even if the match lives in the next postcode. Social distancing eh?