For You

This morning was starting like any other Monday when the ground fell out from beneath me. 

An old friend was calling me, here in Adelaide, from our home town in the UK. I assumed it was an accidental call, they often are because my name begins with A and is at the top of many contact lists. I declined it and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, getting ready to get out of bed. What time was it in the UK anyway? 11pm? Must be around 11pm. But they called again and slowly my brain registered that there is no good reason for a persistent call like this, there is never a good reason for a late night/early morning unexpected call with this kind of perseverance. Sadly I have known this feeling previously in the last 12 months. It is a distinctly unnerving and baffling and sickening realisation that something is dreadfully wrong, and whilst you do not want to answer this call and surrender to the pain it likely contains, you absolutely must.

I answered it. 

Gilo. John. Stretch. The names you go by. I cannot bring myself to say ‘went’. Not yet.

I know I am in shock. I had to drive 5 minutes down the road this morning, directly after receiving the news, I cannot remember getting in the car, let alone the journey. I can’t keep my mind on anything, you were 41 and you deserved so much better than this. I am forever thankful to our mutual friend in the UK who diligently called those that you were close to and broke the hideous news first hand and listened to me make guttural noises of horror and said comforting things while he was also in shock, having found you, having had to process a scene none of us should have to see. Then I had to break the news to my oldest, bestest friend who is also here in Australia and see the shock and horror register with her too.

I am writing because it is the only way I know to process shock and pain and you understand that, I know you do, because you have a keen appreciation for the written word. You have often talked to me about my blog, my writing, and you took my entire library of classic literature, acquired over many years, off my hands when I moved to Australia, determined to give them a good home - you were delighted to take ownership of a curated and treasured collection and I was equally happy to entrust them to your care. I wonder how many you had read.

It is fair to say I am angry. Angry at the world because the COVID situation right now allowed you to slip away unnoticed for days, angry at you because you clearly were not looking after yourself and so many of us saw that you needed to and tried to encourage that, and failed (which makes me angry at myself). Angry that for the second time in a month the physical distance and global fucking pandemic will prevent me saying a proper goodbye to someone who mattered and had influence on my life. You mattered very much, and I wish I had told you that more often.

I met you when I was a rambunctious teenager, around 1997. You were part of the group I fell in with during sixth form college and you were memorable from the start. Mainly because you are so much taller than me, at least a foot and a half. That is why there is a whole raft of people who know you as Stretch. I have always known you as Gilo, a name you allegedly acquired due to a jacket you wore in primary school which somehow spawned a completely random nickname that stuck, in the way that random childhood nicknames often do with your school friends. I have never called you John.

There was a moment, cemented in the early history of our friendship, which we often laughed about as adults and could never quite forget. I have no idea now what nonsense led to it, but you are literally the only person in my life who has (quasi-accidentally) knocked me clean out with a perfect six inch punch to the jaw. And you were horrified about it, absolutely mortified, though I thought it was hilarious - and I never missed an opportunity to rib you about it in the many years since. It is ironic as you are, in fact, one of the most pacifistic and gentle people I have ever known, a genuine gentle giant. You care far too much about everyone around you and gave tirelessly to coaching kids (who clearly adored you) in trampolining, in your free time, for years. You gave your time and energy willingly and without a second thought to all of your friends. You helped me move house on more than one occasion and have been a shoulder to cry on through all kinds of drama over the years. I know that whatever I asked of you, you would have given - and there are many people in my life and in my various circles for whom I cannot say that with any certainty.

Social media has helped me today to look at photos from across the 23 years that you have been in my life; of parties, weddings, New Years Eve and Christmases, multiple occasions where we have drunk and danced and reminisced and laughed. You never think it will be the last time you say goodbye to someone important until it already was. I am so incredibly thankful that I saw you in February, when you met me for a drink despite the fact you had had two major bereavements in the space of a week, that I got to hug and comfort you for a change. In recent years you had remained part of an increasingly smaller circle of people that we always catch up with when back in the UK and I hope you know that is because you mattered. 

It meant so very much to Stu and I that you attended his Dad, your work colleague’s, funeral in late 2016. On a personal note, your quiet strength and the calm that you brought were incredibly welcome on such a difficult day and it resonated with us that you made the effort, not just to support us but to pay your own respects. I remember you holding me up, physically and emotionally, at the wake, when the gravity of the situation became too much - stepping in without being asked, to provide comfort and reassurance, because that’s what you do. It is simply second nature for you to catch people when they fall and I am so sorry that nobody was there to catch you when you really, really needed it. 

Grief is a heartless and relentless master and one with whom we all dance increasingly often as we get older. I am not sure any of us get better at dealing with it, we just become more resolved to the fact it is unavoidable. I know you were dancing your own tango with her when you left, and if I can take any comfort whatsoever from this deeply sad situation it is that you are released from it. 

Know that you mattered and will never be forgotten, know that people are reeling at your loss and treasuring their memories of you and who you were and all you gave to your friends and family. That in a year of absolutely dreadful events and sustained heartache, globally, you leaving is equally significant and still sending ripples across the fabric of those who loved you, such was the depth of your influence. May you truly rest in the peace you deserve, my friend. 

My Life in Music

**warning - long read**

What can I tell you about the role of music in my life that will do it sufficient justice? Not enough, no matter how much I write. It is cliched to say so, but it matters so very much that it must be in my DNA; it drives, documents and reflects my emotions on a daily basis, I simply cannot imagine not having access to it, always, and any person or event of significance in my life to date has a whole series of specific songs linked to them in my oddly configured brain. 

If you have been important in my life in any way then I can guarantee we have danced together and/or gone to gigs together and if you matter enormously then at some point you can bet I will have expressed my love via a mixtape (or these days, a playlist). If I made you one and you never gave me feedback then I am probably pissed about it on some level (joking, kind of).

I grew up in a house where there was always music on and it was encouraged by my very music-oriented mother to sing, to dance, to indulge in it (thanks Mom). There were music related rituals as standard in our house, like Sunday afternoon top 40 listening sessions which would then segue into Mom listening to (and singing along with) The Carpenters or Madonna, or George Michael while she did the ironing and we had our baths. I remember being utterly fascinated by Rondo Veneziano  - whose albums were played on high rotation in our house and with whom both my parents were infatuated. It was my first exposure to any kind of orchestral music and, to this day, if I need to calm down and zone out it ticks that box perfectly.

Returning to music that my birth parents (I also have step parents) had in common, there was a lot of Motown and Northern Soul in my childhood and it was a bond between them too, a shared appreciation that lasts for both of them to this day (while their marriage, sadly, did not!). I associate this genre of music very strongly with both my parents, who will still jump up and dance to it whenever they get the chance.

Mom sang in a contemporary choir when we were small so she sang a lot round the house, practicing her parts - and she sings beautifully. I wish I sang as well as she can - I can hold a tune but it's nothing special. I had singing lessons for a while in my late teens and navigated them perfectly well, but it is not a gift for me like it is for her. I still sing a LOT, mainly when I am driving or cooking. I have an expensive (but well worth it) bluetooth speaker in the kitchen which is almost continually on when I am pottering around in there (another favourite pastime) and to spend an afternoon prepping food, cooking and baking with music on, sometimes singing along, is a real treat. I have been asked whether I would like to join a choir by people I know that sing in them (and enjoy it enormously) but I personally know this would ruin singing for me - I don't like the formality or confines of being told what/when/how to sing, though I do enjoy seeing other people do it well.

My earliest memories of singing as a small child date back to when I was in the school choir and in a production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat in my final year of primary school (Year 6). I also recall singing in various Christmas carol concerts and I used to actually enjoy school assemblies for the singing (until I cottoned on to the overly religious nature of majority of the songs we were confined to). I have a weird encyclopaedic memory for lyrics and still remember the words to lots of ridiculous nonsense songs from school too (about sandwiches and worms and other random things). I can ALWAYS find lyrics that say what I mean, in every situation.

In 1993/94 while at high school I finally stopped obsessing over East 17 (!) and exclusively listening to chart rave (Utah Saints, early Prodigy, The Shaman) when I discovered indie music by dint of Beck's debut smash 'Loser' and Suede's single Stay Together. I distinctly remember the trouble I got into at some point in that year when Mom gave me money to get a new School uniform polo shirt and instead I went straight to Our Price Records at Telford Town Centre and bought a cassette copy of Suede's eponymous debut album. It changed my life. 

To and from school everyday became my listening time (20 mins on the bus, 20 mins walking) on my beloved Sony Walkman. And I started to gravitate towards the other kids who were listening to this kind of music, swapping taped copies of Nevermind, Beck's 'Mellow Gold', PWEI 'Two Fingers My Friend', Rage Against The Machine, Licence to Ill and then further into 1994 becoming quite obsessed with The Offspring (Come Out and Play was almost worn out with overuse for a while), Green Day, Weezer, Rancid, NOFX and also all the Madchester bands from the late 80s and recent early 90s - The Stone Roses, Happy Mondays, Inspiral Carpets, Charlatans and so on. It was like discovering a bottomless treasure chest of amazing things and my appetite for it was quite insatiable (still is).

My grandad bought me my first pair of Doc Martens at age 15 for passing my GCSEs in English Literature and Language a year ahead of schedule. There was technically no rule against me wearing them to school - but my mom hated them and it caused some enormous rows about how appropriate they were for school, at one point she locked them in the boot of her car to prevent then being worn (I can laugh now, I could not at the time - and I currently, at age 41, own 3 pairs of DMs).

Meanwhile I had grown my hair long, bleached it, and was proudly wearing long sleeve band shirts almost full time when not in actual school uniform. To my families' amusement my favourite was one I had stolen borrowed from my friend Anna (love you Tyler!) which had "IDIOT" emblazoned on it in large letters across the front - a prized piece of Wonder Stuff merch purchased for her by one of her much older and cooler sisters. I think this was the Christmas when I used food colouring to dye my hair 50/50 red and green (festive colours right?) and provoked an absolute showdown with my poor mother (at this point just about dating my future step dad, who I am sure found the histrionics endearing....maybe).

My final year at School (1994/5) was also the year I started being allowed to go to gigs (albeit driven to and from by Grandad) and we (Anna and I) duly attended Suede at Wolverhampton Civic Hall in the November of 94. After this the gigs came thick and fast for about the next 20 years. Somewhere (probably in Mom's loft in a cardboard box marked "Ali") is a scrapbook with all gig tickets in chronological order between 1994 and around 2003. I didn't stop going in 2003, I just got lazy about maintaining the book so from there in it is sporadic and there are multiple (annoying) gaps. 

Festivals became a major hobby/addiction/investment from 1996 onwards. I was now at college pursuing my A levels (English, Tudor History, Theatre) and revelling in the freedom to wear band merch and docs every day and hang out with all the other indie kids for whom music was not just an interest, it was a lifestyle and a religion and defined your tribe. I remember vividly the summer of 1996 when somehow I managed to attend Phoenix Festival (highlights - Cypress Hill, Bjork, Chemical Bros & Prodigy) , Reading Festival (highlight - RATM for my first mosh pit split lip, lowlight - The Stone Roses being completely ruined by Ian Brown being out of tune) and Oasis at Knebworth as well as numerous stand alone gigs. I have no idea where I found the cash for such a jaunt around the scene and country at age 17, let alone the amount of Carlsberg, vodka and other substances fun that was essential for such endeavours.

1996 was the summer where I grew up. I was in my first 'proper' relationship (which introduced me to heavier music; during this time I attended gigs by Korn, Limp Bizkit, Skid Row, Paradise Lost, Shelter and Pantera, among others, and fell totally in love with Faith No More), I had two part time jobs, I was learning to drive and my group of mates was now defined and starting to hang in pubs with jukeboxes, which was an excellent way to learn all the cool stuff I hadn't even discovered yet. A standard Friday night was spent in the Kings Head in Wellington playing pool, drinking Archers and lemonade (?!) and feeding pound coins into the jukebox (or begging boys to give me their pound coins to spend - a surprisingly successful strategy when you have waist length blonde hair).

Most weeks we were at a gig or two, some weeks had gigs most nights, and at some point in 1996 I was at a gig in Wolverhampton with my college mates when they introduced me to a couple of their friends from school, one of whom was a guy called Stuart. I did not realise the significance of this at the time. We cannot agree now on whether this fateful meeting took place at a gig by Ash or Garbage, but it was definitely a UK indie band of some sort and possibly one of those two. 

Between 1996 and 2000 I was also a regular at a brilliant, iconic and now legendary monthly trance/drum n bass night in Birmingham called Atomic Jam, which took place in the Que Club - a converted church which still had the massive stained glass windows. Seeing the sun come up through them at dawn on a Sunday, after an entire night dancing and sweating with your mates was truly the closest I have ever been to a spiritual experience and if you have seen the movie Human Traffic then you would have a great understanding of what these nights (and their aftermaths) looked and felt like.

The main room at Birmingham Que Club during Atomic Jam

Over the years between 1997-2000, while at University, we were socialising a lot, every summer was a series of festivals (almost always Reading and V Festival) and for a while I was living in a shared house with two friends where there was usually music on, my room was adorned with posters and I owned hundreds of CDs. Most Saturdays we would head to Blast Off! - an indie night in Wolverhampton, where we would dance until the lights came on around 2am. Many a short lived relationship was sparked or died (or both) on that dancefloor for all of us and over 20 years later I still have some incredibly strong and bonded friendships with people from that group of mates. 

In 1999 Stu and I had made it official and were now properly together, him at Uni in London and me still in the Midlands. We made each other mixtapes and sent them in the post with actual pen-and-paper letters (remember them?!) I still have a box of them with me in Australia. I have also recreated those playlists in Spotify for nostalgia's sake (Deus - Hotellounge, Gene - London Can You Wait? will always take me straight back to that time).

My best ever non-graduate job was working for Virgin Megastores between 1999 and 2002 which indulged my love of music by providing me with access to Elvis (the store database) and a massive retail sound system for playing whatever you felt like outside of store opening times (though, as you can imagine, surrounded by passionate musos the competition to get your choice played was fierce, think High Fidelity levels of music grandstanding). Here I learned to appreciate The Beta Band, PJ Harvey, Bob Dylan, Bright Eyes and (weirdly) Eva Cassidy as well as lesser known acts like Clem Snide, Elwood and Turin Brakes. I adored that my musical knowledge was actually a massive benefit in this job and that I was surrounded by colleagues who felt the same. If I ever win the lottery I will happily open and run an independent record store, it is literally the happiest I have ever been at work by a mile.

Stu and I lived together in Shifnal, London, Shifnal again...until we got married in 2003 - the week before our wedding we went to see Eminem at Milton Keynes bowl, a spectacular wedding present from our friends the McCreddins. 

Wedding planning was a bit of a ball-ache but I do remember being particularly specific about our DJ needing to be able to accommodate our indie tastes and also play Motown - and our first dance was a little leftfield too, it was U2 - All I Want is You (read the lyrics) - a decision that Stu had completely agreed with, not realising it was over 6 minutes long, an excruciatingly long time for an introvert to spend swaying about on a dancefloor in full gaze of all of his family and friends (oops). One of the glitches* in our wedding day was that our DJ had a car accident and was unable to attend, thankfully our wedding planner found an emergency replacement that fitted our quite specific needs and had the all important first dance in his collection. For our 1 year wedding anniversary, Stu bought tickets to see U2 at City of Manchester Stadium, it was as amazing as it was thoughtful.

When I think about the first house that we bought in the UK I immediately think of Arcade Fire's debut Album 'Funeral' and Interpol's debut 'Turn on the Bright Lights' - both excellent albums that were on high rotation around that time in 2004. I also remember a quite legendary birthday/NYE party that happened on my 26th birthday as 2004 turned into 2005 - dancing to Outkast 'Hey Ya' in our living room with our closest mates, someone having an ipod with them for the first time and controlling the music via that amazing device. The playlist that night was also heavy on The Libertines, The Kooks, The White Stripes and many other bands whose names started with 'The' (it was an early/mid noughties theme).

In August 2006 my brother in law and good friend Graeme and I drove down to London and back in a night to see Madonna on her 'Confessions on a Dancefloor' tour - it was worth the insane amount of driving and tiredness. Graeme and I have probably been to more gigs together than I have been to with anyone else, including multiple Suede fan club gigs and I owe him for introducing me to Bowie in particular. 

In 2007 I went travelling with my best friend Claire and we did a road-trip in the USA, exploring route 66 but mainly staying in the west around Arizona, Nevada and California. It was the second time we had been there together having made our first trip in 1998 and this time around we drove a lot whilst playing music. I distinctly remember what felt like some kind of magical epiphany moment driving on the I-15 from LA towards Vegas, seeing that incredible mirage of a city begin to appear on the horizon at dusk with The Killers 'Hot Fuss' playing in the car. The other albums that remind me so much of that trip are Kanye West's Graduation and RHCP Stadium Arcadium.

Claire & I having breakfast in Hollywood in 2007 (note The Vines t-shirt!)

The following year, she and I would do another road-trip up the east coast of Australia (my first visit) where the most disastrous thing that happened (among MANY incredible things that happened) was that I lost a cd holder containing about 48 (mostly self-burned) discs in Hervey Bay somewhere and we were left with minimal in car music for the rest of our trip. I still wonder which lucky sod found that carefully curated collection of my music library. 

Claire & I at Hervey Bay in 2008, about 10 minutes before I realised I had lost all my CDs

Of course, these days my entire music library is much harder to lose because it is predominantly in the cloud and driven by my phone and mainly consists of curated lists on Spotify and my (hardly used) iTunes library. The days of owning a physical collection of CDs and vinyl seem so archaic and I was personally forced to accept this fully in 2013 when we emigrated and had no choice but to severely downsize our belongings for the ten thousand mile relocation. 

There are a swathe of songs that will always connect me deeply with Adelaide because that first winter we were here they were my high rotation listens while we found our feet, these include Haim's debut album The Bones of What you Believe, and Arcade Fire's fourth album Reflektor and since then my music taste has been massively influenced by the Australian music scene with a whole lot of Violent Soho, Gang of Youths, Amy Shark, Hilltop Hoods, Meg Mac, Alex Lahey, Polish Club etc a frequent presence on my 'most played' list. 

My taste in music is still pretty eclectic, I go through phases listening mostly to emo, or mid-90s grunge, or 80s classics and I am as likely to be listening to Fleetwood Mac as to Funeral for a Friend on a Sunday afternoon (this week it is a passing reminiscence/obsession with 90s Ibiza tunes, thanks to the excellent Netflix produced series White Lines) - just let there always be access to music in my life, thats all I ask. For me, if a person has passion for music in any form then it is usually a safe guess that they are my kind of human being. 

I was inspired to write this blog when I watched Beastie Boys Story a few weeks ago and was so incredibly overwhelmed with love for that band and their history and all the things it meant to me that it made me ponder on why music moves me so much (I still don't know the answer to this). I saw Beastie Boys live 3 times (twice at festivals and once at Birmingham NEC) and feel so privileged to be able to say that about a band no longer in existence but still so relevant. Check Your Head would be on my list of top 10 influential albums in my life for sure. 

This week we finally got notification that the Hella Mega tour date we had tickets for (Seattle, in July) has been postponed - not a surprise really, in 2020 COVID meltdown. I am still processing the sadness about this, because it features 3 of my favourite bands ever on the same bill. I am crossing everything that it just gets moved out by a year and we can reschedule the amazing trip we had planned around this show. These days I may not go to 2 or 3 gigs a week but the gigs we do go to are usually major events like this one. 

It is fair to say that music has defined and soundtracked everything in my life and will likely continue to do so. I have never wanted to go out and dance more than in the last 10 weeks or so while we have been in isolation and I can't wait for that first opportunity. Until then it's just me and my headphones having a silent disco in my kitchen or enjoying the insane bass produced by my Jeep sound system. 

As you were ;)

*other glitches at our wedding included a fistful of confetti being aggressively shoved down my top, a particularly feral relative stealing our photographer at a critical moment and then getting shitfaced before crawling around the dancefloor on all fours and a giant penis being drawn on the door of my new in-laws hotel room by mistake....

Isolation Dedication

This is not the 2020 any of us were expecting, right?

Someone gave our local statue a new look.

I think it's fair to say we have been somewhat hoodwinked by the planet at this point and that Mother Nature is schooling us on who is really in charge around here, having finally reached the end of her tether with humanity pissing all over her back yard. Who can blame her?

Anyway, it is only April and here I sit, isolated (physically), bewildered by the state of the world right now and trying to imagine what 'normal' life will look and feel like when this is all over, because it genuinely seems that we will never truly go back to how things were. We cannot. The game has changed.

We thought 2016 was a fucker of a year, when we lost Bowie, Carrie Fisher, George Michael, Alan Rickman and my wonderful father-in-law and the Brexit referendum shocked everyone and Trump was elected. All. In. The. Same. Year.

But now it seems that 2016 was a dry run for something much, much worse. Who knew?!

Watching any news channel at the moment is an ordeal. None of the news about this disease (I shan't say it's name because I think we have all heard it at least a million times too many by now and it might behave like Voldemort and draw strength from it) is easy to digest. It is terrifying, significant, weighty and simultaneously gripping because none of us alive right now have seen or experienced anything like it. This is a life defining moment for all of us, and those that survive it will never, ever forget what it did to us and how it changed our lives.

My heart goes out to people who have lost someone, or more than one person, to this virus. Especially because at the moment that will often mean having lost a loved one without having been with them when they slipped away. Grieving in isolation, tormented by the ravaging hideousness of that raw emotion without any standard support mechanisms, without human touch and comfort, without the process of closure defined by a funeral and a wake - at least not one like we are accustomed to.

I reflect on losing Nana last year and how much harder that would have been if I was unable to get on a plane and head back to the UK and physically be with my family, to be comforted in their presence and hold them close and celebrate her life together. It was one of the hardest things I have ever been through, and I never thought, less than a year later I would be feeling gratitude and relief that it happened last year and not this year because of the different and highly distressing experience it would have been. 

I feel guilty for this gratitude and relief. We are, of course, programmed to feel guilty when we don't have it as hard as others. Unless you are a sociopath of course.  But I note, on social media, where everyone is living their "social" lives right now, there is even more anger and angst and vitriol than usual, and tragedy everywhere, and fear. And I, personally, just want some of the screens I am limited to interacting with (instead of people) right now to not be full of negativity, but to be radiating hope and finding silver linings, and celebrating how people are supporting each other. 

So, I have had a cull and blocked or unfollowed a lot of people. They were probably people I should have removed a long time ago (some mood hoovers for sure), but in some respects, this crisis is making decisions easier than they ever have been before, in the name of self preservation.

I have been working from home for around 3 weeks solidly at this point and my god I miss my team, our beautiful campus, I miss walking between meetings, I miss being able to wander into town at lunchtime, I miss the general freedom that we have when things are ok and there isn't a bloody pandemic raging. There are things I never knew I took for granted (all the things listed above for a start) and which I will try earnestly to not take for granted ever again.

For me, I realise how incredibly privileged I have been in my career, especially over the last 4 years with University of Adelaide, where I have had many opportunities to connect with global partners and visit them and work with them, some of them (mainly in the USA) multiple times. I should have been preparing right now for a visit to UC Davis in Sacramento. Just saying those words seems like an insane notion at the moment. This is problematic for me, because I know, logically, that it is going to take a long time for business travel and the higher education sector to recover from what is going on right now, and that means a removal of one of the main sources of joy in my role for an unspecified amount of time. 

I am so very proud of my team, who are always a source of joy and support and who continue to make me laugh on a daily basis. We have always, as it happens, engaged with each other fairly socially outside of work hours (on messenger and the like - we have had a team spotify playlist for a couple of years) so adapting to slack as the 'official' channel for this has been pretty smooth, it just feels like we talk 24/7 now because all that happens after business hours is we switch format from slack to messenger and carry on. And the banter is still there, thank god. The last month has been insane in terms of workload, but we are all coping admirably and trying to cut each other some slack (arf) when it is needed. if anything, I would say our productivity has gone up.

And I realise how many hobbies I have neglected over the years and which I am now able to dig out, resurrect and remember why I liked them in the first place. The callouses are back on my fingers from picking up the guitar, I am finding time to play PS4 (and I have awesome friends who have lent us a whole heap of games to play), I am doing zumba a few times a week as exercise (on the Wii), finding time to read and bake and cook more (though I have never stopped those things) and when I get chance there is a blanket to finish crocheting and a scarf to finish knitting. It could be so much worse. 

Who knows what the rest of this year will look like, I am trying to rationalise that nobody can know and that we just need to count our blessings and abide by the guidance to keep isolating and thank our lucky stars for science and all the people doing the incredible research to find a vaccine and keeping the front line of health care going. They will be remembered as the heroes in all this. 

If nothing else, 2020 is the year when we were all forced to stop, adjust our lifestyle, remember that humans are not omniscient and all powerful, appreciate the things we have, slow the pace and try to support one another. It is not easy or enjoyable, but we will come through this at some point and look back and remember that year when we did the impossible and defeated a virus together. Imagine the afterparty. Imagine that.

So stay safe and do the things that help your mental health right now, there really is a light at the end of this tunnel, even if we can't quite see it just yet.