Sickie notes for Diane Abbott: the key is plausibility
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Version 0 of 1. Monday On a bleak afternoon there was some mild relief to be had in flicking on to the government’s petitions website and watching the number of people calling for Donald Trump’s invitation to be withdrawn increase by about 1,000 every minute. But with the state visit sure to go ahead, attention is now turning to what form of protests should take place. Letters in the Guardian from various activists, celebs and MPs have called for mass demonstrations. I’m not so convinced that’s the right approach. There’s nothing a narcissist wants more than attention – regardless of whether it’s good or bad – and The Donald would be bound to see 1 million people marching against him as a sign of his importance. The answer is to meet aggression with passive aggression. Imagine if the streets were absolutely empty, only half a dozen or so MPs turned up to hear him talk in Westminster Hall and his visit made no more than a news in brief on page 13 of the papers. That would surely send the US president into a total breakdown. There are precedents: most US papers managed to ignore Theresa May’s visit to meet Trump last week. Tuesday Normally a new Paul Auster novel would be certain to feature as a Digested Read. But there was something about the 880 pages of 4321 that made me think twice. There are only so many hours in a week. Writing at three times the length to which he normally does isn’t Auster’s only break with his normal style. Auster is notorious for featuring characters – sometimes called Paul Auster – who spend a lot of time agonising over their writing, but this time he has written a novel in which the main character, Archibald Isaac Ferguson, leads four parallel lives. It took Auster seven years to write 4321 and some critics have lauded him for the originality of his conception. But it’s actually quite a familiar trope. The movie Sliding Doors was based on the same premise. As was the 2004 film The Butterfly Effect, which was developed from a Ray Bradbury short story in which the hero goes back in time to change something tragic, and each time finds all the characters, including himself, living different lives. If you want to you can trace the format to Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper and Anthony Hope’s The Prisoner of Zenda. There’s no idea so good as an old idea. Though sometimes if you divide up a life too much, all you get left with are crumbs. Wednesday A study from the University of Auckland reports that improving your posture can cure people with moderate to mild depression. Apparently, depressed people tend to slouch more, and if they can be persuaded to sit up straight then their mood will improve. It sounds implausible, but as someone who has been getting progressively more concerned about their mental state over the past few weeks – I know I’m in trouble when I wake up every morning feeling anxious – I’m willing to give anything a go. Over the years I’ve tried almost everything. Medication. Cognitive behavioural therapy with a counsellor who confided to the group I was part of in a psychiatric hospital that her biggest fear was always being late but somehow still always managed to be late for the start of the group – none of us could work out if this was proof that CBT worked or not. I’ve done yoga, badly. I’ve tried and failed to meditate – I’m not very good at blocking out apocalyptic thoughts. I’ve even stared at a light box. With nothing to lose, I’ll try keeping my shoulders back for a day or two. Thursday Poor old Diane Abbott. There she was, desperate to cast her vote on article 50 at 7pm, only to go down with a migraine just a couple of hours beforehand. The Labour MP John Mann has rather cruelly accused her of throwing a sickie to save herself from the dilemma of choosing between her constituency, 80% of which voted for remain, and Jeremy Corbyn’s three-line whip. As someone who has been known to take the odd sickie myself – though obviously never while I’ve been working for the Guardian – I feel obliged to give Diane a few tips on the right way of doing it. Don’t get photographed having a few drinks in the pub the night before. Don’t make an impassioned speech in Westminster Hall less than an hour before you want to bunk off. Don’t tweet less than an hour after you are officially throwing up with a migraine. The key to a good sickie is plausibility. Some well-placed, attention-seeking coughs, several hours before you plan to go home. Talk loudly on the phone about how ill you are feeling and that you aren’t sure you’re going to make it through the day. Then wait for a colleague to suggest you go home. Friday I came to love opera totally by accident in 1980. My mother was ill and had a spare ticket for the Royal Opera House and offered it to me. I was going to refuse but then I saw that it cost £25 – a fortune in those days – so I accepted. From the first five minutes of hearing Jon Vickers singing Verdi’s Otello, I was spellbound. The music and the drama transcended any other art form I had previously encountered. Since then I’ve been lucky to hear most of the great singers in some fantastic productions. Along with some not-so-great singers in some not-so-great productions; opera is such an artistic high-wire act that when it is done badly it can be a total car crash. But the great productions – like the great operas – stand the test of time and one of the most unforgettable stagings I have ever seen was Jonathan Miller’s Rigoletto that updated Verdi’s opera to 1950s New York. While some updatings can feel like gimmicks, this one worked perfectly, adding to the music rather than detracting from it. I saw it when it was first put on in the early 1980s and I’ve seen several revivals since. The English National Opera have just brought it back, I went again last night and it is still an overwhelming experience. On the night, Jonathan Miller got the loudest ovation. And rightly so. A must see. Digested week: finger on the article 50 trigger. |