“I don’t really have any,” was my honest answer to someone asking what hobbies I had around six years ago. I still feel a bit embarrassed about it. “I guess I read a lot,” I had offered up, ashamed of my own boringness. This was an especially lame answer when it turned out my questioner went hot air ballooning in his spare time (yes, really).
That’s not to say that reading is boring or anything to be ashamed of, but it’s something that’s so central to me I might as well have said “breathing”. It doesn’t count. It’s not something I think about or practice: I just do it because it feels wrong not to.
I did nothing with this embarrassment for a few years. Occasionally, I would take it out of the back of my mind and prod it uneasily. Then I would shove it away again. That is, until Covid-19 hit and I was furloughed, finding myself with more time on my hands than I’d had since finishing my GCSEs.
I raced through books for the first few weeks, relishing the excuse to sit on my own for hours. I had nowhere to go and nothing else to do. It was blissful, at first. But soon reading wasn’t enough to fill all the hours of the day. J was still working in the one-bedroom flat we rented in Wimbledon where the wi-fi didn’t reach the bedroom, so I couldn’t just sit in front of the TV, either. I got very into gardening, but there’s only so much you can do while waiting for your seeds to grow.
I found myself drifting through the day, unfulfilled and unsatisfied. The freedom I had felt turned to despair. Why hadn’t other people in the company been put on furlough, too? Was I surplus to requirements? My brain felt like a sodden sponge: saturated with words and nowhere to squeeze them into. I took up journalling for the first time in years, filling page after page with my anxious thoughts.
I reached quite a dark place. Having no real worries – no elderly parents, no children, no health issues – I turned in on myself. I found it difficult to get out of bed sometimes, knowing that the day would be just the same as the one before. Other days, I went for long walks on my own, tears streaming down my face. I felt useless and resentful. I needed a distraction.
The conversation about hobbies returned to me on a particularly low day. The weather had been bad, so I couldn’t get outside. I had passed through each room of the flat (all four of them) but couldn’t settle anywhere. I couldn’t concentrate enough to read. Then I remembered my lack of hobbies.
It was like a lightbulb going off. I wasn’t useless, I was bored. I was back to being a kid in the summer holidays with nothing to do. I think social media and streaming apps have made us forget what it’s like to be bored. How could you possibly have nothing to do when you have the entire internet at your fingertips? Nothing forces you to create your own entertainment like not having anything to do. It sparks creativity and imagination. A measure of boredom is a good thing.
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Because that’s exactly what it did for me. I picked up a paintbrush for the first time since my A-level art class. I bought watercolours and a sketchbook and I sat contented for hours, headphones on, mind busy. I started writing the very first words of what would become my novel. I found an old teacher’s desk being given away on the street, brought it home and painted it, turning it into a garden table. I did the same thing with some chairs and a chest of drawers. I took online classes in Chinese history, classic literature and climate change science. I baked more than I ever have in my life (but not banana bread – I hate bananas).
These things fell by the wayside slightly when we came out of lockdown and I went back to work. But the desire to learn new things stayed with me. In the second lockdown, I took up embroidery. In the third, knitting. Since then, I have taken classes in dress-making, pottery and French. I have branched out from tomatoes and grown potatoes, courgettes and chillies. I am experimenting with film photography, though it’s so expensive that it has to be a part-time hobby.
All of these things have enriched my life and my mind in some way, even if they haven’t taken hold. They made me realise how much I missed learning something new, challenging and stretching myself. They have forced me to become comfortable at being bad at things, at least at the start – something I have never been good at (it’s why playing sports is a no-go for me). They have enabled me to meet new people of all ages and walks of life. And they have given me a new appreciation for artistry and skill – the value of being able to make something with your hands and how much we don’t appreciate that anymore (I’m looking at you, fast fashion).
I still read all the time, but it is not my only hobby. Now, when I have the same conversation, I won’t feel ashamed or embarrassed. I will list my hobbies with gusto, even if they do make me sound like a geriatric.
Things I have enjoyed lately
The End We Start From
I almost scrolled past this film on Netflix starring Jodie Comer. I was in the mood for an easy watch, and a story about a climate disaster hitting London, forcing a new mother to run for shelter, didn’t really fit the bill. I gave in, though, and I’m so glad I did. I was riveted from start to finish. It portrayed such a human experience – the lengths we are willing to go in desperation – in a way I don’t think I’ve seen in other disaster movies. Gorgeously shot and Comer is fantastic as always.
My Lady Jane
I love a period piece and I’m a sucker for the Tudors, so I can be a bit uptight about historical accuracy sometimes. However, the first 30 seconds of this show tell you to forget everything you know about what actually happened and just enjoy yourself, and I did just that. It was a funny, sexy romp with a weird fantasy angle (which I probably could have done without but, hey, it added drama). Rob Brydon steals the show as Lord Dudley, as do Dominic Cooper and Kate O’Flynn as Lord Seymour and Princess Mary. Plus the costumes were gorgeous. Loved it.
A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder
I came to this show for Mathew Baynton and stayed for the plot. I enjoyed this much more than expected to. I went in thinking of it as a fluffy YA novel, but it actually gripped me and was much darker and twistier than it seemed from the outside. Some of the plot points were a bit loose, but it kept me guessing up to the end with a satisfying conclusion.