How was 2023 for me? Well, I’ve ranked the top 5 letdowns …
Ifeel a bit left out by the whole Spotify Wrapped thing, where the music streamer reveals what you have been listening to this year. I use my spouse’s “family” subscription – a (highly effective) bargaining chip to make our sons speak to us occasionally – so I don’t get the personalised rundown. Mine would only be “Peaceful Piano”, a dirge-like playlist I use to drown out men on trains holding forth on how Dan handled the deck at the year-end steering committee.
How revealing is our musical taste anyway? Mine says nothing – it’s hardly news I prefer silence to any sound – so I have been wondering if there are other rankings that might prove more revealing about our year and our states of mind. Here are some more illuminating top fives.
Phrases used when opening my emails
What fresh hell? What do they want from me? When I opened my inbox this year, I was definitely saying one of these things:
“Go away.” A solid performer in 2023 and always.
“Please leave me alone.” It’s polite, at least.
“No no no.”
A guttural noise of horrified disgust, like the one you would make if you trod on a slug with bare feet.
“I hate you.” Obviously not you. (But yes, also you if you’re in my inbox.)
People my headphones called, unprompted Some headphone mechanism I do not understand keeps unleashing a Russian roulette of telephonic awkwardness by calling a random person in my contacts. This year’s top scorers:
“Vincent” – sorry Vincent, I have no idea who you are.
A busy and important former colleague who definitely would not remember me.
The guy who did our insulation, who probably thinks I have a crush on him.
“Ann” – could be various people, none of whom I have a casual calling relationship with.
My son’s housemate.
Repeat purchases
Boots Dual Defence nasal spray. Something about living through a global pandemic made me unkeen on sickness, weirdly, and since I heard on the radio this might work, it became my winter talisman. Am I writing this with my most wretched, debilitating cold of the last five years despite that? Yes, yes I am.
Subscription supplements: I have been paying for these hard-to-cancel nutrients for months, but unless omega-3 works by osmosis through the cupboard door, I have derived no benefit from them.
The improbably tasty vegan chocolate cake from the cafe my husband refuses to enter in case veganism is contagious (I realised I can keep any food for myself by telling him “it’s vegan”, a strategy I have abused relentlessly and intend to continue abusing).
Enviromix eco-friendly bird food, because it’s important to keep the local squirrels and rats plump and healthy sustainably.
Chicory because it’s bitter and pale, just like me.
Sources of household tension
Bins, bins, bins, bins, bins.
People on Instagram I have envied A German dog trainer who has a pet burrowing owl.
A PR with a glittering social life and luxe wardrobe who eats amazing (free?) meals daily.
A nepo baby with three exquisite homes.
A Parisian tour guide who eats pastries 24/7.
The dog influencer I’ve envied since 2021, but now he’s moved to Japan and his canine life looks even better.
Biggest letdowns
Collagen: the skin on my face has all pooled around my neck. Where can it go next? I already look like a shar pei.
Colette, my prettiest, meanest hen. She is performatively terrified of me, brutally bullies her companions, has laid only 10 eggs this year, and she spent over six months being broody (sulking and hormonal in a box).
Every food I tried to grow except runner beans (which I don’t even like).
Keir Starmer. I’m all for mindless loyalty, but he’s not making it easy, is he?
Myself: I made a list of professional goals last January. There were only three things on it but I have achieved none of them.
Enough negativity, though, because this comprehensive review has given me fresh 2024 goals. By the time I’m back here next year, hopefully I will be well on the way to acquiring an owl. Worst case scenario, I will at least have smashed my headphones with a hammer.
• Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist
celebrities such as Helena Bonham Carter, David Beckham, Jude Law, Jennifer Aniston, Chris Martin and Cindy Crawford. They continue to spread the word.
But why? These are not people who want for education, and nor are those who follow their advice: the typical user of homeopathy is affluent and middle class. Why are kings, movie stars and the rich so susceptible to this snake oil?
Two factors, I think, are at play. The first is that elites tend to overestimate the value of their instincts. King Charles and Cindy Crawford spend their time surrounded by suck-ups. They are themselves exceptions to the rules that govern others. If a gut feeling leads them to “thought field therapy”, rather than modern medicine, they might be more inclined to believe it.
And the second is something first observed by Charles Percy Snow in his famous remarks about the “two cultures” in the west. Ignorance of literature and the arts will exclude you from “highly educated” circles, but it is perfectly acceptable to have no grasp of basic science – the second law of thermodynamics, for example, or how to define “acceleration”. Combine overconfidence and an ignorance of science and you get an aristocracy convinced that crushed bees and aconite are the answer to their problems.
In any case, it is bad news. Alternative medicine is useless but not always harmless – when cancer patients put their faith in tinctures, and chanting can cause fatal delays to proper treatment. It needs to be resisted.
• Martha Gill is an Observer columnist
In the mid 19th century, dozens of homeopaths served as personal physicians to monarchs around the world