Big news! I am going on tour. My first proper actual theatre tour. In some lovely venues. With an interval and everything. For the paperback of Notes on a Nervous Planet but talking beyond that, about how we can be truly kind to ourselves and the world. Link in bio. Tickets on sale... NOW!
Watching kids telly is better than being at an awards ceremony anyway.
This is a page from Notes on a Nervous Planet. It is up for non-fiction book of the year at the BAMB Reader’s Choice Award. I know it is an honour to be up for such things but I can’t go to the award ceremony tonight. The truth is that I find those things hard. Keats used to say he felt himself slipping away in crowded rooms. That’s me. I lose myself. I went last year and I won and even then I wasn’t happy. That’s how pathetic my brain is. I go. I win or lose. And then I end up getting drunk. And then I end up comparing myself to other people. Award ceremonies to me are like rain to Donald Trump. So I’m going to follow my own advice and stay in and look after myself. But massive good luck to all the nominees and even more massive thanks to all who voted for me.
Kindness is not just nice. It's revolutionary. Consumer culture encourages the opposite. We buy things out of fear or a sense of being incomplete. Kindness is treading lightly, in our minds, towards each other, and in the world. #worldkindnessday
Phnom Penh airport, Cambodia.
Met a lovely woman, Lucy, after my Truth Pixie event today who designs these sweaters for @thekindnesscoop
- an effort to encourage people, especially young ones, to be kind to each other. Money raised goes to Young Minds. Anyway I promised I’d post about it. I think the hashtag is #itsakindofrevolution
Wilfred Owen was the ultimate war poet. And the last verse of Dulce et Decorum Est contains the greatest lines ever written about war. The First World War was the most pointless and bloody and unnecessary of conflicts, a land battle between competing ruling classes. There was no glory in it. The soldiers felt no glory. Glory, as Owen knew, was just something exploited by those far from the front in order to get young men to go to their inevitable deaths. No glory. Just tragedy and shame. We remember so that we never repeat. (Though we do.) ‘Dulce et decorum est, Pro patria mori’ - the lie Owen was talking about - translates as ‘it is sweet and honourable to die for your country’. Owen’s experience in the trenches taught him this was an insult.