Nancy Alsop

Close your eyes and cast your mind back, if you will, to the summer of 2024. Britain had just crowned a new prime minister, our fortunes in a major football tournament hung in the balance, and the country braced for an incoming heatwave. So far, so déjà vu. But on TikTok there was only one serious question: were you, like Kamala Harris, having a Brat Summer? Were your energies, like those of the would-be POTUS, spent unleashing party girl vibes and embracing self-acceptance to the thumping sounds of Charli XCX?  If that passed you by, perhaps you remember 2025's Hot Girl Summer?

For the past 264 days, I have been hounded by a merciless small green owl. If I were to share this with friends, troubled whispers about my mental wellbeing would soon strike up. Disquieted, they might even cart me off to the hellscape of a wellness intervention. And yet this malevolent bird is entirely real. It is there when I unload the dishwasher, lamenting its disappointment in my efforts; and it is there when I put my daughter to bed, warning that it is about to become 'very angry'. Yes, Duolingo is an insidious Jiminy Cricket on modern shoulders – except that it lives in our pockets and, rather than dispensing wisdom, is an emotionally blackmailing shame merchant with rage issues. It wasn’t always this way.