Spectator Life

Some years ago, I managed to get an invitation to a very exclusive party. One of the guests was Prince Philip, consort to Elizabeth II, and some way into the evening he drifted over in my direction. He used the classic royal conversation opener: “Hello, what’s been keeping you busy?” “I work in marketing,” I replied. “Oh dear,” he said. He turned away and went to find someone more interesting. I was officially boring. That’s fine, because I have made it my lifetime’s work to seek out the boring at parties. Those who drone on, those who tell the same story over and over, and those with that odd nasal monotone that makes most people desperate to escape their company. I am not alone in this. C.S. Lewis did the same thing.

“Feeling a bit stressed or anxious? Want to practice more mindfulness? Looking for good vibes and your best mellow and chill?” This is not an advert for a life coach but the official sales pitch for NeeDohs, the much-coveted new children’s toys. These are not mere playthings, you see. Thanks to the ADHD-ification of childhood, they are “sensory fidgets.” NeeDohs are produced by American manufacturer Schylling. They are “the original sensory squish toy”, but others have appeared on the market, such as squishy “original viral dumplings,” produced by RMS International. Squishies are the latest craze – brightly colored blobs of plastic to squash, squeeze, stretch and supposedly help children who have trouble focusing. Squishy, stretchy toys aren’t really new.

The problem with being a well-known climate skeptic is that whenever there’s a heatwave, you get buttonholed by eco-zealots who think it "proves" they’re right and you’re wrong. The first person to confront me during the current sunny spell was a Guardian journalist at a right-wing conference, which the newspaper had clearly identified as a hotbed of "denialism." It didn’t help that the air conditioning wasn’t working and it was approaching 40°C (104°F) in the main auditorium. "I see you’re sweating profusely," he began, shoving a microphone in my face. "Still think climate change is a hoax?" I had to patiently explain that few people on my side of this debate deny that climate change is real.

Elon Musk is hardly lacking for toys. He can spend the morning digging vast tunnels with Hyperloop, the afternoon launching rockets with SpaceX and spend the evening posting on his very own X social media network. Even so, there is one gadget that could still tempt Musk: Microsoft’s increasingly error-prone Xbox. It was reported this week that the Xbox division would be axing 3,200 jobs, the equivalent of a fifth of its workforce. The company is also selling four of its game development studios. Xbox has suffered from slim profit margins, spiraling hardware costs and sluggish growth for Xbox’s Game Pass subscription service. And Xbox fans have been outraged at leaks suggesting the company may remove the disc drive in its upcoming machine.

Seeing a tribute band can be a strange experience. There are your heroes on stage once more, magically rejuvenated and playing the music of your youth. You too feel briefly young again – until you notice everyone else at the gig is also at least 57. But as often as not the band is brilliant. They have lovingly tracked down the right guitars, effect pedals and amp settings in search of the perfect sound. They have styled their hair just so, applied the requisite tattoos and, at some obvious expense, commissioned perfect replicas of signature stage outfits. See Björn Again and the girls might come complete with the purple capes worn for ABBA’s 1980 world tour before changing into the white-booted “SOS” look.

Provence “Painting is a stupid job. Do something useful and train to be a nurse,” commented a man beneath a column I wrote last month. Although well used to the vitriol leveled at artists from some quarters, I found this particularly annoying. I was a general nurse from 1981 to 1985, after which I completed psychiatric training and spent five years working in acute psychiatry in the East End of Glasgow. That was followed by a year as a district nurse and seven more as a practice sister. I nursed because my lower-middle-class background, with its discouragements and lack of contacts, didn’t equip me even to consider somehow making a living from the two things I’d loved most since I was a child: books and art.