Rotten to the core

Note: This is a quick one because I’m celebrating my bday and am supposed to be ‘off’ work. However, as we all know, the ‘off’ switch is broken in this economy.

When I worked in magazines, specifically the lifestyle ones for women that sell consumerism as feminism, we had a rule: ‘Three’s a trend’.

Three furry items spotted in separate Spring/Summer fashion week catwalks? Trend. Three celebrities head out wearing similar leather skirts? Trend. Three different brands release a putty blush? You get the picture.

Three is probably the most powerful number we’ve got; it’s the infinite triangle, the mind, body, soul triptych. Beginning, middle, end. This weekend I hit three decades on earth, calling it in with probably the best party I’ve ever had the privilege of throwing. And yet, on Monday, I found myself in a hopeless place: the 1.30pm Avanti West Coast service from London Euston to Glasgow Central. Spiritually, I wasn’t doing hugely better.

Role Model and Emma Chamberlain in happier times.

I was thinking about a former partner who hates me, or at least carries resentment voluminous and potent enough to poison a large body of water. This healthy line of rumination had been brought on by a new album I was listening to, titled Kansas Anymore (The Longest Goodbye). It’s a breakup record, made by an artist called Role Model who apparently started his musical career as a Mac Miller-esque rapper but thankfully found his way to a guitar. Role Model — real name Tucker Pillsbury — doesn’t hate his ex at all. In fact, he’s very nice about her across the 17 songs that comprise the album, instead turning the microscope upon himself and finding quite a few nasties to dissect.