Broadley speaking...

And so, the second lockdown begins. They say that the sequel rarely surpasses the quality of the original, with from the possible exception of Sister Act 2, but as it turns out I have a stunning lack of nuns in my life with which to jazz up this month of fun.  Thinking about it, this could all just be a big scheme to dampen the unbridled festivity that the post-Halloween period brings - perhaps Boris is sick of seeing Santa hats sitting on shelves where only weeks ago there were skeleton masks and buckets in the shape of pumpkins, as he trudges round his local Mozzers on his weekly big shop. Because without Christmas, there isn’t much else to look forward to any time soon, apart from bonfire night, which, it would appear, Bojo isn’t a fan of either, as he’s chosen the same date to lock everyone down again. Coincidence? I think not. Not that I can blame him on this one; without organised fireworks displays, the remembrance of the time a man with a much too tailored beard attempted to bl

Well, we did it. Lockdown’s over, life’s back to normal and we can all head back to spoons again and enjoy a 5-course meal for £7.95. Happy days. Kind of. It still feels very much like lockdown in the fact that the most interesting thing I’ve done today was take a picture of some particularly interesting looking snails, and try to take a plug out of a sink without getting my hand wet, which I kind of managed. And they say living like this gives people too much free time. But fear not, I have also used my time productively. I’ve been thinking about the opportunities that lockdown’s actually presented, and I think it’s been an ideal time to swap around where you get your hair done. Because I’ll be honest, at this point I can’t even remember what socks I wore yesterday, so there’s no hope for hairdressers remembering everyone they usually see. And you do need a good excuse for something like that, more for your own conscience than for the fear that Shirley from WonderCuts will kick yo

Back in year 10, we used petri dishes in science – little shallow dishes full of jelly, to which you add different bacteria, stand back for a bit and see what happens. Results varied each time – sometimes nothing, sometimes something interesting, and sometimes something dangerous. The petri dish analogy is one that can be used not only in school, but to describe it in its entirety, replacing bacterial colonies with those of humans, and the petri dish with a school.   I’m sure that everybody who has, at some point, attended a public school in this country will have encountered these clichés before, for there are very specific groups that form within a school environment, filled with specific individuals.   Beginning at what they like to think is the top of the food chain, we have the ‘popular’ ones – a niche, very select group of individuals, who don’t do homework, swear a lot, and wear round sunglasses and suits with no socks to prom. They believe themselves to be above the next gr

I’ve noticed an increase in people comparing our current situation with that of the second world war. And I get their point, that idea of communal determination and country-wide resolve to get through this together. But I also think that the concept is flawed in a number of ways, not only because the enemy of the world is not, this time, an unstable German fascist, but an undercooked Wuhanese bat. The main issue is that 99% of us didn’t live through the war, especially not the millennial generation, who make up the majority of the young-ish population of our country. And the upcoming Gen Z populace, who haven’t been alive long enough to experience the spice girls, let alone the war. I know I’ve never been even close to armed conflict, so I’ve been thinking back, trying to pinpoint the closest I’ve personally come to warfare. And I think I’ve got it. Changing rooms. Specifically, school changing rooms frequented by teenage boys, a collective that should rarely be left alone in grou

During these difficult times I feel like we need to work out what it takes to make ourselves feel good again. Unfortunately, almost all of these things require other people. It’s only while I’ve been isolated that I’ve realised how many people I used to see on a daily basis, because now I get excited to see people like the postman, and I jump at the chance to speak to someone, literally anyone, about anything. I even tried texting HM_Gov back the other day, but nobody replied. I suppose they’re all quite busy. It’s not just basic interactions that make us feel good though. Generally, it’s things that really don’t matter that give us the biggest boost. Like those little charity boxes you sometimes find next to tills, and that bit where you pack your bag in supermarkets. When you get change that totals roughly 12p and you spy the box, you decide that this shall be your good deed for the day, locking eyes with the cashier as you pop it in the slot just so they know how good a person yo

My brother and I are running out of ways to entertain ourselves. Today’s activity consisted of me, astride an old bicycle that we found in the back of the garage, and him, trying to knock me off said bicycle with a football, as I cycled at speed in circles around our garden while being chased by our small dog. All fun and games. But at least we can venture outside. I’ve been going slowly mad trapped indoors, with only silence and a potted cactus for company. Sometimes I’ve become so bored I’ve even started doing household tasks like hoovering, and cleaning things like basins and taps. I didn’t even know such things needed to be cleaned. I mean, they experience soap and water more often than most household objects, you’d think they cleaned themselves. I normally hate housework (most sane people do), except if it’s tidying my room. There’s an innate pleasure in walking into your room multiple times after a cleaning session, just observing the majesty that you’ve produced. Whenever m