I’m writing this column on June 22nd, 2026. This morning, Keir Starmer announced he is resigning - yet another example of a deeply disappointing and spineless government official who really stands for nothing - the king of soulless flip-flopping. Someone who could’ve really made a change and tried to fix the world - but chose not to.
The sun is out, marking the start of a heatwave. As I type this, my cat (Rio) is rolling around my courtyard, staring up at the birds, and desperately hunting flies. Now and then, he glances up with those big green eyes, reminding me why I adore him. Speaking of adoration, the most beautiful man in the world texted me “I adore you” yesterday - and how lovely is that? Men don’t really speak like that anymore. I am lucky. He is kind, and his pecs bounce when he moves. I am lucky.
And notably, yesterday (June 21st) was my 37th birthday - my “scary age” if you read my previous column (click here) - and it gave me plenty of time to reflect. Social media has its toxicity, no question. But I’d be lying if I said there weren’t some fabulous bits, particularly the way it archives your history. The things you used to say and the way you used to think. And in some cases, your old hairstyles. Yikes.
So, I opened my Facebook memories - every June 21st I’ve had, stacked up since 2007. There’s plenty to look back on - I’ve always been a chronically oversharing loudmouth. There’s usually at least one post for every day of the year - and yes, really. In 2009, there was a post from me freaking out about turning 20. TWENTY! And I vividly remember typing that exact status into my BlackBerry behind the till at Simply Pleasure in Soho.
The future felt so exciting back in 2009. I’d got the job I wanted in a sex shop (click to read about that), quickly discovered that intimacy and sexuality were “the” topics for me, and knew this was where I’d build a career. I was young, single, coming to understand my sexuality, and learning about social issues and politics for the first time - a real revelation. I’d grown up in a bubble, in Eltham in the 90s and early 2000s.
We didn’t learn about slavery, colonialism, other religions, or cultures outside our own - and my strict Roman Catholic school didn’t encourage it either. The only crash course I’d had was when Stephen Lawrence was murdered outside my front door, and my parents had, over the years, drip-fed me the harsh reality of racism and how it led to his killing. That planted a seed: the version of me who wants to fix the world, who gets so frustrated at injustice I feel physically ill. It also planted the seed of the loudmouth on social media. All of which can be a good thing at times, but also a hindrance.
I became obsessed with the world. Everything felt so progressive. I had so much to catch up on, so much to do. I was spinning plates and making plans. I was going to take over the fucking world. I was going to be somebody.
And then, cut to 2026, where the world feels like a dystopian nightmare of injustice and power hoarded by some of the most disgusting examples of humanity that even horror authors couldn’t dream up. Elon Musk spends all day on Twitter provoking the far right and playing victim. Jeff Bezos has allegedly floated giving AI data centres priority access to water over actual humans.
I've tried to work out where it all went wrong since 2009, or whether it was so insidious that I just missed it. Have I been that blind? After all the work I’d done to educate myself out of my bubble?
Some mornings, I wish I’d never left that bubble and that I’d stayed the Eltham boy who didn’t yet know what the world was capable of. Ignorance can be bliss. But then I see Facebook memories, and there he is: that hopeful 20-year-old, certain the future would be extraordinary. And I realise the hope didn’t die - it just got buried under 17 years of bad news.
So no, I wasn’t blind. I was hopeful. I’d rather be a loudmouth who cares too much than a lump who stands for nothing. Maybe that’s the gift of all this oversharing: it shows me who I was and reminds me who I’d still like to be.
The sun’s out, Rio’s still chasing flies he’ll never catch, and that hopeful boy is still in here somewhere - certain it’ll all be worth it. I think I’ll choose to believe him.