Don’t overthink what you put in your Census 2022 time capsule
The minute I saw it, I knew what it was — a time capsule from 1999. At the end of the last millennium, the country went mad for time capsules. Every school in the country was burying them around the back of bike sheds.
Metal containers with newspaper scraps were slung into the ground and everyone imagined the wonderment they would provoke when cracked open in the distant future.
I wanted in on the action and had pieced my own together for my future self. Inside the box was a small scroll, stained with used tea bags and singed around the edges.
I don’t know why making the letter look like an ancient piece of papyrus was so important. Maybe I thought this was a once in a lifetime historical event and a weathered scroll was needed to convey the gravitas of the situation. My ‘Bang on the Door Groovy Chick’ stationary set just wouldn’t cut it.
What is clear is my time capsule was somewhat of a slapdash effort. I had included the time and date of writing (2:15pm on December 31, 1999), so the significance of the new millennium had dawned on me roughly 10 hours out from the big event.
The scroll contained details of the year 1999. It had been an important 12 months, I told my future self. Everyone was very worried about the millennium bug and the fact the world may plunge into eternal darkness at the strike of midnight. And of comparable importance, I had my first kiss in La Touche nightclub in Greystones, and had bought two belly tops.
The scroll also contained an inventory of items contained in the box. I was hoping it would be filled with nostalgic trinkets and jewels that would Quantum Leap me back to being a tween. But no. A lump of wax from a Y2K candle, ‘my favourite hair bobbin’, 10p, a choker, a daisy chain, some of our pet dog’s fur and the most tragic item of all — a pebble.
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“What is all this shite?” I wondered. Thankfully, the inventory included explanatory notes. Beside the dog’s fur, it read: “Missy is the name of your pet dog.” In case I was some sort of heartless psychopath capable of forgetting my first dog. Beside the pebble, it says: “This is a pebble you found.” Glad we cleared that up.
It’s fair to say I had taken an oblique approach to assembling my 1999 time capsule. On one hand, it all appeared a bit random and rubbish, but on closer inspection, it wasn’t so arbitrary.
I was a self conscious teen and so concerned with being cool and people taking me seriously, I had included bits and bobs I was certain no one could ever find uncool (I was right about the chokers). Or items that would make me look poetic and profound (what could be deeper than a 20-year-old daisy chain?).
In trying to impress my notional future self, I’d tied my teenage self in knots.
But it’s very easy to be judgemental from the all-knowing future. Maybe it’s better if we go easy and cut ourselves and others a little slack when it comes to the past. So I put the box to one side and rooted around dusty drawers before coming across my old homework notebook.
It was filled with dumb notes about who me and my friends fancied, love hearts, song lyrics, photos of celebrities, and Gary Larsson cartoons sellotaped inside. It was a much more enjoyable memento — it scratched that nostalgia itch as well as reminding me what a bop We Like To Party by the Venga Boys is.
I think that must be the trick when it comes to time capsules — the less thought that goes into them, the better. They need to be a bit off the cuff and incidental.
So when the census form rolls in, don’t overthink it, just write some dumb notes and decorate it with a few love hearts.
Hopefully the futurelings will be less judgy than I was.
Goblin mode is more achievable than hygge
Last month, an anonymous Twitter user shared a screen grab of an article claiming Julia Fox and Kanye West had gone their separate ways because Ye just couldn’t handle Julia in ‘goblin mode’.
It was all a lie — Julia never said it and the article never existed.
Despite this, goblin mode — a lifestyle ethos based on slobbing out — entered the social media lexicon and has started to grow legs. Reporting on the trend, The Guardian states that goblin mode is all about depravity and giving up on life. Vogue says it is like Airplane mode when you shut yourself off from normal social mores.
It is diametrically opposed to ‘that girl’ on social media who does sunrise salutations at 5am, eats no processed food and who has convinced her boyfriend to take 654 pictures of her everyday.
To recreate goblin mode, The Guardian advises staying up till 4am, eating cold takeaway and mindlessly scrolling through your phone in your underpants.
“Call it a logical progression into nihilism after years of pandemic-induced disappointment, but goblin mode is here to stay,” The Guardian says.
Right, that sounds a little bleak, but I guess at least eating cold takeout in your underpants is a little more achievable than other picture-perfect lifestyle trends such as hygge or lykke.
Potholes drive Rod Stewart mad
Tired of potholes outside his UK home, singer and D4 resident Rod Stewart has started filling them in as “no one else can be bothered”.
The 77-year-old shared images on social media and explained why he has resorted to taking matters into his own hands. “My Ferrari can’t go through here at all,” he said. Good man Rod.
The Sun reported this may just be the start of Rod’s good deeds. The paper asked if his hometown floods, will he be there with the sandbags and the gladrags at the ready. I’m so sorry.