mostly david ephgrave

Today, I unwittingly stumbled across the most middle-class response to a lack of toilet roll in a public convenience in Hitchin's Caffè Nero, that somehow managed to be both grim and aspirational in equal measure. The gents’ there are awkward enough as it is, consisting of just a single cubicle with a small vestibule area that's akin to a airlock with just a sink and barely anywhere to stand. Once you’ve discovered it's engaged, you feel trapped, unable to walk straight out into the coffee shop so soon after walking in, yet also feeling too uncomfortable to stay. You’re too close to the theatre of conflict, so to speak, with no way out; it’s an exercise in social embarrassment. I walked in with trepidation today, sensing before I was anywhere near that someone was already in there, about to leave me in limbo (I was right). I stood, waiting for too long in that loo lobby, from where I could hear an ominous rustling on the other side of t...

Since returning to Facebook largely for work reasons, I can truly see why I decided to come off. Maybe it’s my perception of it, or maybe it’s down to a few people within my network, but browsing the social media Goliath usually only serves to make me feel bad about my life. From behind the rose-tinted filter of Facebook everyone’s having a better time than you. They’re happier, better looking, more successful and more financially solvent and their friends a lot more interested in what they’re up to. You’re the sweaty Gollum-like outcast peering through a steamed-up window at the party you weren’t invited to; with a bit of luck you mind find a bit of cake in the bin around the back that hasn’t been tainted by other rubbish. I’ve written about my distaste for Facebook more than once here, so you’d think I'd have learnt my lesson. Sadly not; it drags you in like the misery porn of a road traffic accident, leaving you lonely and maladjusted to the...