From ‘he-tox’ to she rocks

Yesterday was a bit of an HTS milestone which I tweeted about and which seemed to resonate with followers and non-followers. Occasionally I am asked to share my experiences and insight (Lol, right?! 🤷🏻‍♀️😆) to students in my line of work and one has become a bit of an annual thing. Not remarkable in and of itself, I know. However, before getting up in front of a hundred 20 somethings who are (on paper) far brighter than me, I go a bit inward and think about what I want to land and how. And yesterday it led to a moment of reflection about the previous year, how awful I had felt inside and how far I had come.

February last year, I was, frankly, a mess. Despite my logical timeline approach to break-ups, it was only 3 weeks since I and the only semi-boyfriend in 6 years had split up for good. I was consumed by the sadness, outrage and injustice of it all and it affected all activities of daily living. I knew I had to get my poker face on and deliver to these ‘kids’ but inside I was like a washing machine, churning, wondering if I could trust myself not to spontaneously start sobbing and wondering if I could just shuffle my papers, run to the ladies and climb out the window. I got through it, they were a lovely bunch, showed lots of interest, asked lots of questions, but when I got outside, the relief and tears flooded out into the street, down into the gutter and all the way home.

In the end, despite semi-boyfriend being definitely not Mr Right, my timeline needed a bit of outside assistance and I went to see a counsellor. Over the few weeks I saw her, we figured out that, since about 16 years old, the longest time I had been without a love interest or obsessing over someone or other was about 6 months and it didn’t take much to work out that that isn’t remotely healthy. Sometimes we just need to fully be on our own to work out what we’re about. I didn’t want to set too many resolutions that would challenge my iron willpower but I did resolve to try to make men less central to my life for the rest of the year. Largely, it was successful. I mean there was this one time I went on a couple of dates with the ‘keen’ Editor who ghosted me after date 2 and then there was this other time when I kind of was in contact with the semi-boyfriend again for a while (don’t). But, the rest of the time I have been ploughing my energies into other things and, though I am now 13 months without ANY form of skin-on-skin, it really has been very liberating. The biggest revelation has been how much I used to talk about latest crush/dating/relationships/the past. It’s partly why I stepped back from Twitter for a while too (well, that and my horrendous screen time stats). I love the circle I am in there but every day, we seemed to be locked in this circular conversation about how dire dating and men are and how no-one was having much luck. They say misery likes company and I couldn’t help feeling like maybe it was all just fairly self-perpetuating and, selfishly, that it was why I couldn’t move forward.

So, I have thrown myself into work, got a presence and impact coach (I know, sounds wank, doesn’t it?), read loads, swum loads, seen friends and talked about “other stuff” and, most importantly, have been spending quality time with my growing-up-too-fast daughter. I actually feel pretty lousy that, not only did she have to endure her parents splitting up when she was 4, but that she also had to put up with 5 years of sharing airtime in her Mum’s brain as her Mum obsessed and wept over a stream of absolute wastemen. I am hoping she didn’t notice or that she develops the self assurance not to be such a passenger to love in her own life. Though I do think she’ll be ok actually. I think we both will.

I have browsed Tinder since the New Year and have kept my eyes out in public in case of flirt potential because closing myself off entirely is as unhealthy as being a love/infatuation addict. But it’s a life side dish now. Nothing more, nothing less. And, importantly, I don’t feel I am missing out on anything.

I used to look to my Mum and her friends for inspiration for how to be happy and whole when there is no other half. All of them, arguably, married too young, had kids, gave up on careers (ok so I don’t envy that bit), then got traded in mid-40s by their husbands’ ‘self-rediscovery’ (aka chasing women half their age and with half their wife’s brain). Apart from one, none of them have remarried or even – to my knowledge – had a boyfriend. They are not closed to the possibility, even in their 70s, but they just have other shit to do. They go on trips, they help out their kids and grandkids, they have loads of hobbies, they help out in the community, they have got new jobs and one has even become a drummer (goals AF). They are like a group a gliding swans and they are fabulous and wondrous to be around. But until recently, although they inspired me, I still didn’t believe I had what it took to imagine a future that might land up without love…but suddenly, on the platform in front of those students one year on, suddenly, I realised I did.

I didn’t choose the single parent life; it chose me

All week long I slog away. This week I did over 50 hours at work. And before I went to work and when I got home I did my other job. Or, rather, jobs: cook, homework monitor, housekeeper, play mate bedtime whisperer etc. I don’t know how many hours a week that takes up but it is definitely zero hours contract and definitely below the minimum wage. My fault perhaps. I “lay down”. I wanted, begged, tried furiously to be a parent. And for 50% of the time she is utterly charming, engaging and the answer to all my prayers. But for the other 50, she is like the Commanding Officer of a very sophisticated torture chamber. The girl who consistently gets reports that say her focus is deeply questionable…well, that kid can focus – without even blinking – on ear-piercing screaming and tantrums for 2 hours straight. I expected it at 3. At nearly 11 though? Really? 
I know it could be worse. I could have more than 1 and be juggling multiple tantrums. She could be ill or disabled. I could be penniless and dealing with it at the same time as wondering how to put food on the table. So, I know in many ways I am “lucky”. But, you know what? It’s exhausting. It’s relentless. And going it alone is sometimes the bleakest thing I can ever imagine. Especially when that wasn’t the bloody game plan. 
Today 2 hours in, I just wanted to walk out my front door and keep walking but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t hand her over to a partner to take the strain. Because I don’t have one (and can’t imagine anyone ever volunteering for that gig). I just had to take it and keep trying to find ways of getting us out of the situation we found ourselves in. The lowest ebb was the 3 year old in the garden next door going “xxx NOT happy”. This on the back of being hauled in front of two teachers yesterday as she had threatened to cut a boy’s face off at school as he’d dripped something on the artwork. 

I was supposed to be going out tonight. I sent my friends voice recordings of her blood curdling screams. My childless friend replied: 
“I just don’t know how you do it, lovely”. 
I don’t either, lovely. But what choice do I have? Her Dad is 200 miles away, loves her but can’t help me out either practically or financially. 
I thought I was resilient and I thought I was on a fairly even keel recently. But what I realise is that possibly I have been burying it, faking it, ‘buggering on’ and desperately trying to keep the lid closed on the pressure cooker. 
I hate and am sorry for such a doom and gloom post. But sometimes the enormity of the juggle is all too fucking much. 
Wine? Heck yeah

Where have all the good men gone?

Pretty sure it’s not just me. In fact, so many people seem to agree with me on this on Twitter that it feels weird but the fact seems to be: that online dating has broken men. Possibly irreparably.

Now, disclaimer before I elaborate: I know some women are terrible online too and I know that there are some wonderful exceptions but I only have my own experience to go by and that of the numerous women I know singing the same lament. I know very few men at work or in friendship groups “using” online dating (or at least saying so). They largely say it is a waste a time. So it leaves me wondering who are the millions of guys that are then?

I got a very big warning from a therapist 5 years ago (that “women go online to find love and men to find sex”) and that appears to have held some kind of water. Only, I think if I went back to her now, I would have to lean across the desk and tell her to replace ‘sex’ with ‘attention’.

Because from the latest forays, conversations and shared stories, it appears that on the whole, the sex ain’t even swinging it for the boys now!

When I was online just recently (roughly 3 months give or take the odd dramatic flounce), I had zero dates and zero sex. In fact, I think the average chat length exceeded no more than 2 days (and I am pretty sure my chat is above average). 4 years ago when I was online, I was on dates and having decent chats all the time. So what is going on? I have talked about online dating reaching a tipping point before. I think we’re well beyond that. Now what exists – in the majority of cases (and to stop the dating site proponents) – is a murky world populated by inert bottom feeders. Guys that have no interest in meeting, no real interest in chatting, no interest in wooing and certainly no interest in commitment. But weirdest of all, often they disappear before even nailing a first date…or the woman in question.

I have so many examples but my favourites are the

1. the guy that arranged a date with me and then unmatched 5 mins later and who happened to be in my office a week later. Awkward (for him)

2. the guy I know who I swiped (left) on twice in the space of an hour, first as Alistair aged 47 and second as Hugo aged 42

3. the guy who ghosted my friend and then got back in touch with her to tell her off for still being on Tinder and

4. the guy who had missed the bit about me having a child, said he couldn’t be a father figure (PMSL) but offered ME friendship as HE had just arrived in London and didn’t know anyone!!!

If I gathered all the stories from Dating Twitter, it would add reams more to the list and make for seriously alarming reading.
I mean, lads. Are you feeling ok? How complex have you become? How lacking in get up and go are you? How short is your attention span? Is interaction with the opposite sex honestly just about the quenching the ego’s thirst now and then and then heading into work or home for an early night?

And what about the guys who aren’t online? Are they the same? Or does real world fire the rockets up differently?

I don’t have the answers to any of these questions sadly but I do read day in, day out, the despair of people actually trying to use online dating as a way of finding a significant other. The overriding sense is that finding someone or something with any longevity is about as easy as finding rocking horse shit. There are the odd successes and I guess that keeps the hope alive but so many people are walking around feeling like they are going to be alone or sworn off men forever.

We all witnessed the lovestruck Prince Harry absolutely mesmerised by his bride this last weekend. I mean it was his wedding day. It would be a worry if he wasn’t but the overriding reaction from women everywhere was “wow, I need a man who looks at me like that”. I think our collective expectations have got so low as a result of our experiences that it seems so, so impossible to expect something that good. And that is so desperately sad.

So, ladies, do yourself a favour: ditch the serial swipers and head out into the world to find your men of substance x

Is this it?

A good friend died recently. At 49. A very fit – and seemingly healthy – person. Gone. Just like that. My friend is now a widow. At 46. They didn’t have children and every day I think of her and my heart breaks a little. They had the perfect relationship and in the world I inhabit – of disposable online dating, broken promises and human behaviour at its most base – they were the test case for hope. How the bloody hell she is going to get up every day and live without him, I cannot even begin to fathom.

And, if you’ll forgive the self-indulgence, it has got me reflecting about my own life. I recently had another birthday. Another step into the perplexing world of middle age. Although I am told I don’t look my age, sometimes I sure as hell feel it. The wrinkles, the crushing tiredness (yet inability to sleep beyond 4am), the weight gain that happens with every calorie ingested and not burnt off, the rapidly-decreasing eyesight and, lastly, the being in the dating ‘no-man’s land’ (where guys only want me as a MILF or, conversely, to be their carer). And I started to think “what if this is it? What if my best years have gone?”. “What if, with that, I am going to be a born-again ‘old maid’?”

But though I feel all these things in startling technicolor, do I feel scared? The answer is, no, not really. I sometimes feel sad. Deep, visceral sadness that I haven’t found my ‘person’ and, with every passing year, the growing realisation that I’m probably not going to either. But I also feel calm. Calm and content with the things I HAVE got. I have a comfortable life, do things that make me happy and keep me active and busy. I have amazing family and friends and feel that there is still lots left to discover in the world.

And – and this is the icing on the cake – I am the luckiest person in the world to have my daughter. My beautiful, caring, clever, empathetic and downright hilarious bantersaurus who is about to hit double figures. As she waved goodbye to me out the window this morning, smiling from ear to ear, I knew I wouldn’t change a damn thing. In fact, it made me even more resolved that all the Tinders and POFs and Happns (and don’t get me bloody started on the Bumbles) as well as all the wastemen I have been living in the past and moping over – can go to Hell because, for the foreseeable future, the only love I have to invest will be in her.

So, if this is it, I say “bring it”!

Why closure doesn’t always mean closure.

Closure is truly hideous. I mean, it is a vile word for a start. So ‘new age’ and trite. But, not only that, it appears to be the holy grail people seek to give meaning to things that often are unfathomable. Like failed relationships, for instance. Or, their close cousin: death.

The fact is, even if you seek ‘closure’, will you actually even get it? Often at the end of a relationship, there is this burning desire to understand why? To work out if things could have ended differently if only you’d done this or that, or said this or said that. But, even if the other person gives you a run down of all your flaws and failings, or theirs, will that honestly make you feel better? Chances are, if you are seeking answers, you are in some kind of pain, denial or hope. Layering on cold, hard, soul-munching facts is just another nail in the coffin frankly so, hard as it is, don’t do it to yourself.

All we can do in this life is live our own life, ride our own rollercoaster, enjoy sunshine and rain. One man’s meat is another man’s poison, they say. So, think about it, just as NOT having the final ‘chat’ or answers is giving you most horrific anxiety, to whoever you’re obsessing over, maybe HAVING that final chat gives them the same. So, try it once by all means, if it makes you feel better to get it out but, once it’s said, do the kind thing to yourself, walk away and start the process of rebuilding. Don’t wait around in limbo for answers that may never come…

~ A retrospective

Bah(stard) Humbug

Christmas is always such a reflective time and, for me, the time when I have to dig the deepest. It’s all about my child and ensuring my jaundiced view of the season isn’t projected onto her. I long for the wide-eyed childhood wonder of Father Christmas coming and the excitement that entails. But those days are far behind me. Christmas for the last 8 years have been a struggle and this one doesn’t look set to be any different. Before ‘he’ moved out, we spent most of the Christmas period arguing about having to spend time with each other’s in-laws – (I mean, not unique) – but it would always degenerate really badly and I can never erase the particularly awful Christmas night when he threw a crystal glass at me which narrowly missed while our 1 year old sat looking on. Nowadays, while the violence has gone, the ‘hangover’ remains as we play the annual tug-of-war over who gets to be with our daughter at Christmas. I look after her 50 weeks of the year and pay for and do absolutely everything. I want her to see her Dad but I don’t want to give her up on one of the most special days of the year. He also moved far away which makes it really difficult to do 50:50. Selfish of me maybe but, hey, I’m not perfect. We’ve managed to get some sort of compromise that can work this year after a month-long battle and I thought it would be offset by a friend coming back to stay.

Not so, that friend (yep, him again), spent 2 months building up to see me and planning trips and things, only to come back and the theory of me being better than the reality. He was distracted when he was in my company and not particularly attentive if you know what I mean. Then – almost as if he wanted to get found out – he asked me to plug his phone in for him. Notification after notification from Badoo. Oh please. Why give me all the crap about “really thinking it might finally work out between us” when you are grubbing around on the most basic and shitty of dating sites? So, now the reality dawns that another not-so-thrilling Christmas looms as I wave my 9 year old off on Christmas morning and now I have to deal with being spun another fuck-ton of lies from another prick who thinks the grass is greener. I’m sure it won’t be. Without wishing to sound too big-headed (and believe me, my self-esteem is in shreds), they generally find it hard to give me up and a few transient chicks on Badoo? Well, mate, knock yourself the fuck out. But, hey, it’s nearly 2018 and the ice queen will riseth. Happy Holidays all!

Prisoner of the Mind – living life with an anxious attachment style

“He’s not going to get in touch”

“He’s gone off me”

“He’s seeing someone else”

“He doesn’t fancy me anymore”. 

“I am totally unlovable”

Just a few thoughts that plague the mind of a person living with an anxious attachment style. Sure, everyone in the dating pool – and often way into relationships – feels insecure sometimes but if you are condemned to an anxious attachment style, these type of thoughts are like a poisoned ivy creeping round your brain and your heart every day of your life. And it’s exhausting. 

According to the psychologists, there are three types of attachment style – Anxious, Avoidant and Secure – and it is thought that these stem from our relationships in our early years with parents etc. Whatever the reasons for our style, changing style is very difficult to do especially as, weirdly, the more anxious your style, the more likely you are to go for people with an avoidant style (I’ll simplify it: the commitment-phobes, cheaters and ‘fuckboys’). Which makes the vicious circle even more vicious. 

The worst thing about anxious attachment is that it makes an otherwise confident and strong person a shadow of themselves. And often it is a private struggle they deal with well behind-the-scenes. At work we’re told to ‘fake it till we make it’ if we feel daunted by something and so off we go projecting to the world that we are bulletproof. Inside, however, we can be a tangle of contradiction and fear that the real ‘us’ will be discovered. 

The same is true in our personal lives. In our attempt to quash our anxious attachment style, we don our suit of armour as we hit up the dating scene. People are impressed by our outgoing and fun-loving personality and think how “chilled” we are. And because we’ve become such good actors, we can keep up the pretence for days, weeks, months…even years. While we’re busy portraying that we are the coolest date in town, however, the reality is that we are facing a daily battle with the mind weeds that are tell us the happiness will be short-lived. Every text and conversation is analysed to the endth degree, you have a regular sick feeling in the pit of the stomach (what I call ‘swallowing the breeze blocks’) and you can rarely just relax and go with it, even if on the outside it appears you can. 

Sooner or later, the pressure cooker goes off and these feelings bubble to the surface. Whether it is the odd loaded comment, sulking or silent treatment or possibly even a massive drunken meltdown. All of a sudden, the landscape has changed and the other person becomes aware they’ve been mis-sold. Which is when the problems begin. Unless they have a Secure attachment style and love you enough warts-and-all to help you through it, it is pretty bad news and, sadly, this is unlikely as most Anxious people go for the polar opposite – the Avoidant. As a result, the Anxious and the Avoidant get locked into a power struggle that rarely ends well. The more the Avoidant pulls away, the more the Anxious craves them and wants to ‘turn the ship around’. You’d think the Avoidant’s natural response would be run a mile but they can often stay trapped in the cycle too because the Anxious goes back to being aloof to regain their sense of self or because the Avoidant realises if the ‘Commitment’ word ever comes up, they can play on the Anxious’s disposition and infatuation with them to evade the issue. Also, more worryingly, the Anxious will always provide the Avoidant with a response or a bit of validation to massage their fragile egos (the Anxious is a lamb to the slaughter when chucked a “Hey x” bone). This merry dance can go on for a long time until one of you breaks the spell. 

So, what can you do if you are an Anxious or you know one:

1. Don’t tell yourself or an Anxious person to just “think positively”. That’s like telling a depressed person to “man up”. Utterly futile. 

2. However, it is easier to accept the way you are built once you’ve recognised it and realise it is possible to break the cycle and find peace in your relationships 

3. First stop is to be less afraid to take off your suit of armour and tell people you struggle sometimes. It is hard to do but people will want to help.

4. It sounds obvious but fill your life with fun stuff, hobbies, exercise and plans. An anxious person tends to spend a disproportionate amount of time thinking about relationships. Any moment away from that is a moment of freedom to be cherished. There is way more to life than some one-way half relationship too. 

5. Really reflect on your ‘type’. The nice guy who is always there for you may not create the excitement or drama you crave but he might you lead you to a lot more calmness. 

6. Write down a list of all your past partners and relationships and look for unhealthy patterns. Then transfer these into a red flag book for next time. 

7. In fact, write a lot. Write down how you feel in a diary or a blog as, not only can it be cathartic but can also help when you look back once the moment (or latest wasteman) has passed. 

8. Commit some time to being totally dating/relationship-free. Everyone needs a holiday from the rollercoaster sometimes. Maybe take regular phone holidays too. Anxiouses tend to be slaves to them! 

9. Learn to play the ‘long game’. Being anxious can make you think and act rashly. It is a hard habit to break. But you have to try. Building up a million negative scenarios is pointless and, actually, can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

10. (Actually, maybe this should have been number 1). Read ‘Attached’ by Dr Amir Levine and Rachel Heller. It is truly a lifesaver. 

The wheels came off but continue to go round and round.

What is it about humans that they are prone to returning to the site of pain? Is it because the pleasure and pain are so closely linked? Or is it just me?! I guess if I look at my relationship history, the short answer has to be “yes”. I have always managed to end up staying for the longest in the things that hurt my heart the most. I always stay well beyond the relationship ‘sell by date’ and, even though I always make the final decision, I have often done so because I have literally reached the end of my tether.

So, why all this now? If I backtrack to my big ‘Review of the year’ blog a few short weeks ago, I would have said that here was a level-headed version of me even laying claim to finding ‘inner peace’ (Jesus, who made me a self-help guru all of a sudden?! ). I also mentioned that EUM was coming home for a visit and that I would be fine when he left. And it’s true, I think I would have been…if what had been built up over the 5 months he’d been away had come to fruition. As soon as he left in August, our relationship went from strength to strength. Despite being separated by 1000s of miles, we spoke regularly and we both relaxed into things. We planned and looked forward to him coming to stay and, by the end, I was literally counting the days.

The first 2 days were fantastic and for the first time in 4 years, I felt part of a couple (I know, more vom!). But, then the rot started to set in. The rose tint of the long-distance romance faded into the day-to-day world-weariness of living together. We sat around, he spent most of his time watching football with friends, we didn’t do anything exciting, I found myself picking his underwear off my floor, we bickered, we had no sex life to speak of and I started getting the familiar feelings of something not quite feeling right and insecurities rising to the surface. For him, having lived alone pretty much all his life and having been cut off in the middle of nowhere for 5 months, being thrust suddenly into a household with woman, kid, pet, commute, work, chores, homework was too much. All in all, it was an abject fucking let down. I always knew that it was a make or break situation for me. We’d already been knocking around together for almost 3 years in total (which should have been a huge red flag) but I was so convinced that the distance had made us really appreciate what we had, that I allowed my guard to come down and I had started to believe. In all my fantasising, I had never bargained for a) distance reinforcing our mutual unavailability and b) skipping the honeymoon period and heading straight for one foot in the grave.

So, began the conversations bringing it all to a close and because of the friendship we’d built up over those 3 years, that was really bloody hard. It was also a week till he went back. He offered to go and stay at a friend’s but my flirting with the pleasure/pain continuum meant that. of course, I was going to make it as painful for myself as humanly possible. Last Wednesday, he left and we talked, we hugged, I sobbed, (hell, he even cried and he’s emotionally crippled) and if I could have begged him not to go, I would have done. For all the rational reasons we were never going to work, every emotional fibre of my being wanted him to stay in my life. I had got attached. More than I ever wanted to or thought possible and because we weren’t throwing crockery or dropping the c bomb at each other, parting really was the sweetest sorrow I can ever recall (look, just indulge me one more time on the flowery language please). As he drove away, I built a break up timeline to share on Twitter, trying desperately to tap into my rational, resilient reserves. Pretty much to the hour and day it is spot on. He’s been in contact quite a lot but I’ve had to make it stop because every time I respond, I pick the scab. I’ll always be grateful to him for making me realise that perhaps the old HTS1 heart isn’t as stony as it makes out but I need to concentrate on me now and ultimately look for someone who is available to me – both in terms of where they are in their life, where they live and, above all, emotionally. Life will go on; as will I. So long, EUM x

PS. Guys, if i ever use the term ‘inner peace’ again, please end me…

My Review of the Year

The big thing I have to say about the past 12 months is it has been the year I finally found peace. If I look back to 12 months ago, I woke up on my own on Christmas Day crying, I was still plagued by daily thoughts of 007, was in the semi-weirdness thing of EUM and had the virus from hell. As 2015 turned into 2016 however, I began to fight back. I realised what an absolute idiot I had been making of myself with the biggest fuckboy of them all. But, more importantly, I got to the very clear realisation that online dating was definitely not for me. I may have only dated three men in 2016 but that is more than ok with me. I am happy to let the universe move in the mysterious way it does. I don’t like blind dating. Never have; never will. (and let’s face it, with all the BS, online dating is just blind dating by another name). I’m pretty socially-proficient but, put me in a dating situation and I become the shyest, most self-conscious person alive. I would far rather strike up a rapport in the traditional way and let nature take its course. EUM left in August and is due back in a few weeks for a while. I will definitely meet up with him and we’re pretty much in touch every day but he will then go away again and it’s fine.

So, with him and online dating out the picture, what have I been doing with all this free time? Well, having a bloody good time, TVM. Work is going great guns, my daughter is growing up and is so fun, funny and interesting, my sports are getting more and more attention (as well as mixed up a lot) and my Twitter family has grown massively and I love all the problems halved, shared and guffawed at that come with that. People may think it odd that Twitter gets its own special mention but I regard it as one of the driving factors of my move towards feeling content and at peace with the hand I have been dealt. I never feel lonely, there is always someone there to give you a helping hand and a kind word, it makes my sides split half the time and has introduced me to some very close friends.

Family life has been weird to say the least. From feuding to crazy relationships developing to the ongoing wars and ceasefires with the ex-husband. It has meant for no dull moments but it has also led to a quiet, peaceful and reflective Christmas break pondering all that has happened and all that I want to happen next year. In Spring, it will be 4 years since I’ve been on my own. That might panic some people. My Mum never met anyone else after she and my Dad split up and I always used to pity her. Not anymore. I get it. There is more to life than the rollercoaster of looking for a partner. My life is full as it is, I have a wonderful (if messed up) family, amazing friends both real and virtual and I make more and more every year. That just wouldn’t have happened if I was still married. So, come at me 2017. I am looking forward to what you have in store.

And now for something completely different…

I wondered about writing this as my stuff tends to concern matters of the heart or light-hearted (nay, banal) stuff on the state of online dating etc but then I reasoned that, actually, I can write about what the hell I like. So I will.

So, today I am going to write about the events of yesterday. 8/9th (time-zone dependent) November 2016 was a huge day. A huge day for the Globe but also a huge day for Politics, news outlets, families and individuals. After a campaign that seemed to go on forever, America finally decided its next President would be Donald Trump. I follow Politics closely both personally and professionally and I have to say, I called it wrong. It is the first time that has happened for a while but I was far from being the only one (see majority of pollsters’ predictions). I guess I assumed that, when push came to shove, people would not be able to put their chips on elevating Trump to the highest office in the World. But many did. When I woke up at 4 in the morning (no change there then), I saw it beginning to unfold and began to predict how the day ahead would go on social media. In anticipation of this, I tweeted about making the tea and started posting anything and everything non-Election related. The reason I did that was because I knew every possible view would be expressed adequately by everyone else, that emotions would be running high, that people would start falling out and that, in those moments, the best hope for me would be to pump out the odd bit of distracting gallows humour. Judging by the likes and retweets I got, I wasn’t alone.

But as the day wore on, it began to get tedious for me, I can’t lie, and actually I had to switch my phone off from time to time. It’s absolutely right that freedom of speech means people can say what they like but social media has meant people have taken venting their spleen to the endth degree. I also had a silent rage brewing that, while busy mourning the death of the West and predicting the arrival of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse that the US Election had (allegedly) led to, other tragedies were silently unfolding. 7 families of the Croydon tram dead and 2 families of two teenage runners killed (allegedly) by a drunk-driver were processing news that their lives really and truly – and not allegedly – had changed forever. On any other day, the Croydon tram tragedy would had consumed us and our UK news channels almost exclusively. Yesterday, apparently ITV news put 90 – yes 90 – seconds of coverage on the Tram tragedy. This is disproportionate surely by anyone’s standards? As for the promising teenage girls killed out on a training run, it seems they were largely consigned to the online edition of local news. 

I get that people are gutted and that the media whether mainstream or our own personal social version is catering to that but, in the midst of our despair about the unfolding events of geopolitics, is it really beyond the wit of all of us to pay our respects to people snuffed out on a grey and miserable early November day? It’s all about perspective and, while we live in hugely challenging and worrying times which naturally elicit every conceivable human response and emotion, I wish we were better at allowing other people the space to deal with that but also keep an eye on the bigger picture and retain a bit more perspective. And with that, I will close, go and look for some hilarious and puerile gifs and, of course, pop the kettle on…