I think I’m quite uncool. And I think I’ve come to this realisation about twenty years too early. This is normally the observation of some glamorous 40-something-year-old, writing in the Sunday Times Style Mag about how their kids don’t like their music anymore.
But here I am. Uncool and embracing it.
Last week I lost my bankcard for the third time in three months. I decided it was time I did something to alter the current system – the one that was quite clearly failing me. It seems slipping your bankcard into the pocket of whatever garment you’ve decided to wear that day, in amongst the poo bags and the phone and all the other things I’m reaching for once a minute whilst walking, is not effective adulting.
I did drop countless hints about wanting a card holder for Christmas, but alas, they fell on deaf ears and I was therefore left to enter January just as hopelessly as I’d left December. (I do own a wallet, I just don’t use it on the dog walks etc. etc.)
Inevitably, within a week, the card was gone again. Queue another sheepish call to the bank and the shame that that brings with it.
Now I live with two people. One of them, my boyfriend, uses a cardholder and it serves him well. The other, my flatmate, in a move so uncool that it’s just about the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, wears a lanyard round her neck, which homes her keys and cards. Yes, a lanyard, the things that doctors and employees at big important offices that you don’t understand wear around their necks.
Not once has she got locked out. Never have I seen her make a tail-between-the-legs call to the bank. I’ll have whatever she’s having, please.
So I got onto Amazon, put my order in, (misread the description and ended up with twenty) and in doing so totally revolutionised my life. Never have I felt so organised.
Unfortunately, not everyone approves of my decision. Well, actually, aside from my flatmate, no one in my life has embraced my new found system and I’ve spent the last week subject to intense ridicule:
‘What’s next?‘ they jeer, ‘a fanny pack and a fishing holiday???‘
And that got me thinking. Thinking about all the shit I do on a day to day basis that absolutely isn’t cool, but that is just so great.
I’ve decided to list them for you, in the hope that one day, you, like me, will be happy with your totally tragic pass-times.
I won’t defend it. I’m all about that practical life.
Another thing I don’t feel the need to defend. Christmas presents are revolutionised; people have to love the scarves they receive because they are clearly made with love, (and took me about four years to complete). Couple that with the satisfaction you gain from creating something yourself from nothing more than a cat’s play toy and two sticks, and the fact that it’s a sociable hobby that regularly prevents me from killing people and you’ve got yourself a winner.
Touch typing tests.
OK. This is tragic, I grant you. But sometimes, when I’m alone, and I can’t be arsed to do anything important, I take free online touch typing tests. Honestly. #mortified. On the plus side though, I can now do 93 words per minute with minimal mistakes, so who’s the the real winner here…. guys?
Pretend I’m in a music video.
An easy thing to do if a) your hair is feeling particularly swishy or b) you’re dealing with some raw and intense emotions. Nothing like channeling your inner Avril Lavigne to have you strutting down the street like a boss.
And navigate a ball with wings through basket ball hoops for minimal reward (flappy dunk) and make hexagons for hours on end (in an originally named game: Make Hexa!) and connect dots with other dots (two dots). Apparently we’re like so over iPhone games now, or so a 13-year-old told me the other day, but whatever.
Not know the lyrics to any songs ever.
I thought the lyrics to Imagine Dragons’ song Radioactive were ‘ready to watch you’. Guys. The words are in the title. In the title. IN THE DAMN TITLE. Like…. how???
I learnt how to dab just before Christmas and now I can’t stop it. That’s like so over too, by the way. But I here I am.
Binge watch shit reality TV.
And not like the Real Housewives of Cheshire or Keeping Up With The Kardashians (still never watched an episode btw), but like a Channel 4 series about ambulances in the North West of England. I can get through one, two, three of those series on an admin day and then vow to myself that I won’t tell anyone what I did. Other than the internet of course.
Sleep with a gum-shield in.
No, not a retainer like your favourite Nickelodeon teenage idol had that made you really want braces. No, not one of those. A full on gum-shield, like the ones that hockey players wear. I grind my teeth, this is supposed to help me. And if that’s not the sexiest thing in the world then-I-don’t-know-what-is.
I count, everything.
Like, everything. It’s 382 steps from my house to the co-op. It’s 62 steps from my front door to the little patch of green where I take Bua for a wee. It’s 14 steps to my bedroom from the sitting room. I guess how many steps it will take me to get to that letterbox in the distance, I won’t let myself turn around until I’ve done 1000. It’s how I pass all my time. #tragic #dontcare.
Live for Popmaster.
If you don’t know what this is, congratulations, you’re cooler than me (in light of everything listed so far, this isn’t much of an achievement). At 10:30 every week day morning on BBC Radio 2, Ken Bruce hosts a music quiz. Not only do I do it every day (and find myself thrilled to bits when John, 54 from Farnham who plays the harmonica in his free time wins a bluetooth speaker), but I often text my mum to compare scores – she always beats me.
Look forward to driving alone so I can sing my little socks off.
And I’m sorry but if you even try and tell me that you don’t do this too then I will know with absolute certainty that you are a dirty little liar.
Use the word ‘trendy’ totally un-ironically.
Because there is nothing in this life as great as the buzz you feel when one of your parents’ friends describes you as such.
Two-strap by backpack.
Do I want a bad back at the tender age of 23? Do I fuck. It’s all about even weight distribution kids and I’m willing to sacrifice being cool if it means I’m structurally sound. Suck it.
I’m not cool. And I’m fine with that.
I hope you are too.
So now it’s your turn to make me feel better. Hit me up. Let me know. Anything you do more tragic than anything listed above?