Come cringe with me

Some random humiliations from my life I hope will make you laugh

Right friends. There’s enough people around here at the moment who are ‘Januarying’ you. That’s a word, yes, I’ve just made an executive decision on that. And I know that you know exactly what I mean: It’s the month when motivational madness takes hold. You’ve got your disciples of Dry January, your gurus on goal-setting, your cheerleaders for sticking to resolutions, and those just as fired up about saying ‘fuck that’ to resolutions. I’ve got nothing for you there. January? Just get through it. My coping methods include reminding myself that the days are already getting longer, exercising, enjoying my pristine new paper diary, continuing to enjoy Sauvignon Blanc and my Uniqlo Heat Tech under things.

If I have anything to offer that could loosely be labelled as ‘advice’ for getting through the freezing dark trudge that is January, it’s just this: Actively seek out the things that make you smile and laugh. Diarise your joy with as much diligence as that oh so important marketing meeting. Check in with yourself and make sure you have done something - anything - to bring a smile and a laugh to the day. It could be rewatching Schitt’s Creek for the umpteenth time (just me?) or finding funny fart memes to send to your equally juvenile friends, or just looking through your phone’s camera to remind yourself how lucky you are that it’s full of people and moments you love.

In that spirit, I’m going to tell you these stories.

I don’t know why, but as I was waking up this morning, a memory from a few years ago just popped into my head. Random. But oh, it’s one of the most hilariously embarrassing things that has ever happened to me and still makes me laugh a lot. Which it did, first thing this morning and I’ve been in a great mood ever since. It’s in that spirit that I’m going to tell you this stupid story, and a couple of other stories from when I was really stupid, to hopefully bring five minutes of cheer to your day.

Here goes…

The mad girl on the train

This was just…. Where to begin. I was on a train bound for London Bridge station during the morning rush hour. Somehow I’d managed to get a seat. A window seat at that! (It’s hard to remember sometimes, the pre-Covid era where thousands of us were sardined together so hard that I used to joke that I’d gotten pregnant in the crush.)

So I’m sitting there on the 25-minute journey, sort of zoning in and out of looking at my phone, and, then, I notice something exciting. A few train tracks over, in another train whizzing past, I see the face of a woman I know. She’s staring out, right in my direction. What’s more, it’s Helen, Glamour’s managing editor, my trusty right hand woman, also travelling into work that morning. I mean, come on, that never happens. In a sea of thousands of London commuters, seeing someone you know across the way like that, through a tiny window? I was gripped by the excitement of this random occurrence and with no thought at all, I immediately burst into a big silly grin and started waving. And I don’t mean a timid or dainty little polite Queen Elizabeth wave. Oh no. I mean a huge, flapping gusto of a greeting. You’ve seen those ol’timey film clips of ol-timey people energetically waving with hats and hankies as a steam ship sets sail, right? Like that.

Helen, about six train tracks and 50 feet away, peering into space out of her little window seat, did not react.

Oh, she didn’t see me, I thought to myself, more than slightly crestfallen. This was a once in a lifetime occurrence (I was convinced) that would never happen again. I’d tell her about it when I saw her in the office. In about 20 minutes. I was sure she’d be as jazzed as me about this remarkable event.

I faced away from the window to look back down at my phone, but instead, I noticed, for the first time, that the entire carriage of people were all looking at me, some with mouths agape. Everyone - the five people seated around me, and the 20-odd faces standing in the aisle, were all staring at me, clearly all convinced I was insane.

I suddenly realised how damn weird that must have looked to see a woman suddenly start flapping her arms about and waving at the train across the way. Something a toddler might do.

So I said laughed, and said - loudly - ‘Oh it’s OK! I know her!’. I pointed out of the window. ‘I just saw someone I know.’

This only drew more blank expressions as people continued to stare, many wondering if perhaps this was one of those See it.Say It. Sorted. moments they’ve been told, for years, to be on their guard about, and report to the transport police.

Not one person so much as raised half a smile as they all continued to regard me with either suspicion, alarm, irritation or second hand embarrassment. I guess if I saw a grown woman suddenly break into an idiot grin and a flapping wave at… seemingly nothing… I too would think she was a fucking weirdo.

So this - the realisation that I looked insane - had a further unfortunate effect on me. I started laughing. No, not laughing. Giggling. Like a demented clown. I was trying to clamp down on it but, no use. My shoulders shook, my eyes streamed. The more the stony silence endured, the more absurd and funny I found the situation. I really could not stop laughing at my stupid damn self.

So of course now everyone in the entire carriage was justifiably convinced they were watching the live breakdown of a mentally unstable woman.

As I was finally able to get off the train and scurry back into the anonymity of a crowd, I got a text: ‘Oh. I just realised that was you waving at me like a loon. ‘

Fuxake Helen.

Martina Not-ratilova

I was on maternity leave so this is going back some, yet the shame waves still cut deep. I was strolling through my local park early one summer morning, pushing my infant daughter in her pram. I was also talking on the phone. I found myself next to the tennis court in the park, which is ringed with a (probably) nine feet chain-link fence. A couple of guys were playing when their tennis ball sailed over the top of the fence and landed near me. I thought I would be helpful and while chatting on the phone casually picked up the ball and hurled it to top of the fence with an under-arm throw. It didn’t make it anywhere near the top of the fence, hit about half way up and slapped back down in front of me again. Bit embarrassing, I thought, as I picked it up and threw it again, but this time with way more force. Same thing. It made it to within about 50cm of the top of the fence before slapping down again. Wow, you really are useless, I thought as I picked it up again and again… you guessed it. Oh. My. God. This was a point of principle now. But when I failed a fourth time, one of the guys, looking really annoyed, just said, ‘Stop! Forget it!’ I think they were sick of politely waiting this shit show out before they could carry on with their game.

This glimpse into my natural sporting ability tells you everything you need to know about why I always struggled to be a proper Aussie.

Big Mac and frDies

OK, I really think this one is not entirely my fault and yet still generates mortification as powerful as did, way back then on that very day in1993. My friend Shelly and I were treating ourselves to a McDonald’s on High Street Kensington. We’d not been in London long and we were poor, so the Happy Meal Deal was quite the draw. It was heaving in there, but we’d found seats and were enjoying our burgers and minding our own business. Suddenly, there was a tap on my shoulder. It was a guy around my age, sitting at the table behind me.

‘Date,’ he said. Well he almost whispered it, really, with a kind of urgent tone.

‘Sorry?’ I said. It was an abrupt, out of context gear change. What was he on about? Elaborate, man. But he repeated:

‘Date… date.’ This time he sort of nodded and added an encouraging smile.

Still very confused by what was supposed to be the response to this non sentence, my brain went to a very 20-something definition of the word ‘date’. I was young, OK? I was naive. I was also single and ever hopeful that I would meet young men who would want to date me. Confused, and sizing up in a millisecond that this guy didn’t seem my type, I said, quietly, ‘Um… sorry…. I… can’t….’

And that is when he said: ‘No. What is the date today?’

Great. Now that I’ve made a tit of myself is the moment he finds the ability to use a complete sentence. Shelly not only laughed for hours, but told everyone we knew over the next fortnight.

This is no way every humiliation I have survived but these are the ones I can remember today. Can you top them? I’d love to hear.

Happy January to you, my friends. I really do love having you here.