I’ve recently been doing some day-job work for a book about humanity’s future. Boy oh boy, did I need to do some very, very slow deep breathing and distant staring out of windows while reading that. It’s an amazing book, but sometimes my frustration and terror, at not only where we’ve got ourselves, but also where we are positioning ourselves for our next tomorrows, are very, very enormous. This book offers hope in the form of creativity within science which I think is a good possibility, practically speaking, but I wonder if we need more stories first, to tip our global, political and social focus. Stories to remind people of the hardships which have gone before when we’ve handed over control to those ruled by greed, fear, and hatred; stories to remind people that we all have a better time if we just try to share the fucking cake and not try to punch anyone who would also like some, please. Fewer stories about the shoes/vase/pillow/hat/protein powder/lipstick/sofa/storage solution to finally fill you with happiness. And I say that as someone who loves things, who very much wants rings and sunglasses, dog coats and plates, face creams and t-shirts and spatulas. But we just fucking can’t have everything we want, because – honestly, if we haven’t understood that yet, then what really is there to say? 

Is self-sacrifice the only flavour of tale that can change behaviour? Does it take someone losing something major, or risking something major, before people can feel or behave differently, rather than bubble-shaped lecturing bullshit like this? This was a remarkable episode of the excellent This is Criminal, covering the utterly inspiring and staggering career of Chicago TV reporter Russ Ewing, a man who endangered himself repeatedly to bring dignity and protection to black men and women surrendering to the corrupt police force of the 70s, 80s and 90s. Do we need more of these stories? Are enough people still willing to stand up for something, when they might be torn down for something completely different? 

Another interesting listen recently, on Purity Spirals – the examples within the documentary are deliberately innocuous-seeming, but the historical occurrences mentioned in this are well worth noting. It’s all well and good to pretend Cancel Culture is about speaking up and not letting Bad People Get Away With Things, but it doesn’t actually seem to be working, does it? Unless there’s a coherent moral code that your society agrees on (and of course we have neither one moral code nor one single society) then it’s just a lot of angry shouting and sharp jabbing, which – again, would love to know otherwise – doesn’t transform us into brave and self-sacrificing civil rights campaigners. But hashtag be kind isn’t an answer: it’s further gutlessness, because we’d (I’d) all rather be buying those scarves and trainers than not buying them, and then protesting outside offices and parliament, and writing piles of letters nightly to CEOs and MPs and investors, giving up time from scrolling through apps to engage critical thinking skills and hand valuable hours over to the hard work of social improvement. (The fact that I know people who do this makes it worse, of course. I have no excuse.) Abstaining from actively writing hate tweets to someone doesn’t lessen the wider destructive social effects of a) sitting on our devices all the damn time, and b) being continually fed the idea that consuming more and more is the only way to find meaning in our brief existence. And I don’t know how to unite my growing loathing of tech with the aforementioned book’s suggestion that we all need to be more science- and tech-literate to survive our future. So I’m improving at crosswords instead. 

One personal silver lining: I haven’t watched TV at all this year, barring The Great Escape during half term with one of the children – my mother-in-law and I got up at the exact same moment (when Bartlett and MacDonald board the bus) and left the room giggling with tension because neither of us can bear that bit – but now the child has learnt to mime picking something up off the floor five steps away when I say, “I can’t see a bloody thing,” which honestly is the best, and possibly only reason to reproduce. No TV has meant that I’ve read tonnes more so far, as well as enjoying all the Agatha Christie BBC radio plays I can find on youtube, and getting out for more runs and swims and all that jazz. I swam in the sea twice last week, near some seals, and fortunately survived with both hands intact. 

I promise I will write the bread recipe soon. I felt it was too hypocritical today, when I made the most beautiful loaf, with the most perfect rise, crust and crumb, and all because I forgot to put in the salt so it tastes of absolutely nothing. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.