My diary sits to the left of my keyboard on my desk, ever present, ever in use. Deadlines are written in pencil, because they change. Social arrangements are written in ink. Quite why I’ve chosen such an indelible medium to chart the vagaries of my social life is unclear, for let’s just say I’ve been getting through a lot of Tippex recently. Plans? I’ve made a few. It’s just that, increasingly, they don’t always come to fruition.
Plans are the foundation of my life. Without them, the ground beneath feels shaky. But recently, I’ve been stalling. Procrastinating. Vacillating. I still make plans, but they don’t always leave the confines of my head. I’ll read about something I want to go to - a club, a play - then fret about who else to ask. Or I’ll worry that, among my friendship groups, it’s always me who’s suggesting things. What if everyone only says ‘yes’ on sufferance? When someone else proposes a plan, I feel relieved, and grateful to be included. So surely my friends feel the same? And so on, overthinking to infinity.
The pandemic changed us. How could it not? But while some of us acknowledge and can articulate these changes, others are unaware. 'I’m just the same,' says the friend formerly known as Mr Fun, cancelling you for the third time. 'Sorry for flaking.'
While they are often conflated, there is a difference between cancelling and flaking. Cancelling is more clearly defined, and tends to have a concrete reason: a sick child, a clash of dates, an unexpected work issue. Flaking is more nebulous, and tends to be last-minute. The flaker will couch their excuse in the vaguest terms: something’s come up, they’re tired. We’re all tired. If I flaked every time I was tired, I would literally do nothing ever.
It didn’t used to feel so complicated. So why does it now? Is it me? Or is it them? Probably, it’s all of us. At this busy time of year, now seems a good time to explore why planning has become so laborious - and what we can all try to do to make it less so.
The Death of Spontaneity
My friend Diane doesn’t plan. A night out with her involves chancing it: turning up at a pub and expecting a table, or choosing another restaurant if the first one is full. Diane’s spontaneity leaves me 50% awestruck, 50% anxious. She lives her life like it’s 1998, and the internet is yet to be invented.
But the internet has been invented. And with it has come the death of spontaneity. 'What a balmy evening,' you will think. 'I shall have an Aperol in the nearest beer garden.' Wrong! 243 other people had the same idea - yesterday - because they checked the forecast and booked an outside table online. Spontaneity is even harder during the festive season. I’m going to see Christmas, Actually in December, a live performance of the Richard Curtis film. Do I feel smug? No: I feel like a freak, because I booked the tickets in June.
The etiquette: Planners and chancers should try to meet in the middle. Planners made anxious by spontaneity should remind themselves that a night out doesn’t have to be perfect: it’s the company that counts. Chancers made anxious by itineraries and early plans should remind themselves that the planner means well.
The Virtual Waiting Room
We all know that Glastonbury sells out in minutes, and that you have to pre-register, set an alert and fire up three browsers simply to have a chance. But it’s not just Glastonbury. As anyone who tried to buy Fred Again, Beyoncé or Taylor Swift tickets will attest, mere organisation is not enough. You also have to be lucky. Which sucks. Unless you are actually lucky.
You also have to be single-minded and decisive, even when the event means so much to you that the process of buying a ticket leaves you feeling like you’re having a heart attack. I recently registered for pre-sale tickets for two events that went live at similar times. If anyone can explain the point of a pre-sale link that everyone on the planet is at liberty to sign up to, please do. But I digress. The first link went live at 10am. By 10am and 30 seconds, 'downstairs standing' was sold out. But 'upstairs seated' was still available. I prevaricated. This was a club night. Who wants to sit down in a club? Paralysed by indecision, I lost out entirely.
The presale link to the other event, a play, went live at 11am, when I was in a meeting. By the time I could log on, I was shunted to a virtual waiting room. For 90 minutes. Have you ever tried to do any work while being stuck in a virtual waiting room? Clue: you can’t. By the time it was my turn to purchase, my heart was in my mouth. A seating plan with a price structure of Pythagorean complexity filled my screen. I had eight minutes to decide which date and how many hundreds of pounds I wanted to spend on seeing SJP and Matthew Broderick perform together on the West End stage. Feverishly, I purchased two tickets, then worried I’d overspent.
The etiquette: when dealing with pre-sale for an event months ahead, try to buy ticket insurance, since nobody knows what they’ll be doing in autumn 2024. Always set a budget and an upper price limit, mutually agreed by all attendees. It’s the only way not to get carried away in the heat of the moment.
Nobody Has Any Money (or do they?)
Times are hard. The cost of living has risen at a pace all but the wealthiest are struggling to keep up with. And yet if nobody had any money, I wouldn’t have spent 90 minutes in a virtual queue for theatre tickets. If nobody had any money, my Instagram feed wouldn’t be lit up with pics of expensive meals and partywear. Clearly, plenty of people have money - which is why it’s so vexatious when those who do suddenly claim to be too skint to go out.
This type of selective poverty makes plan-making onerous. In any group of friends, incomes will vary, a fact that most planners will take into account. Figuring that a night at the cinema was a fairly affordable activity, Bella suggested it to her friends. All were desperate to see the film, and agreed to come. A date having been arranged, she duly bought six tickets. 48 hours later, Carmen pulled out, saying she couldn’t afford to come because she’d had an unexpected fine. The reasonably low cost of the cinema ticket made Bella feel petty asking for the money, nor was it offered. While she earns more than her friend, Bella still resented paying double to see the film, and regretted going to the trouble of organising the outing in the first place. 'The hardest part of planning used to be coming up with one,' she muses. 'Now, it’s chasing payment and wondering whether you’ll be left out of pocket.'
The etiquette: whatever your income, if you’re a no-show, it’s polite to offer to cover costs. The organiser shouldn’t be out of pocket. Similarly, if they’ve booked tickets for an event several months in advance, it’s worth offering to pay for yours now, rather than later.
Everybody Hates Each Other
I’m exaggerating, of course. Not everybody hates each other. But some people ardently dislike each other - to the point, it seems, that being in the same room is problematic. Where once X would have tolerated Y, now X 'can’t effing stand her', whether due to her politics or some other perceived slight.
Over lockdown, we all had too much time to ruminate on our treatment at the hands of others, resolving only to spend time with 'the real ones' upon reentering the social scene. We also became so accustomed to our own company and environment that we found ourselves newly intolerant of those with tastes and opinions that jarred with our own.
This is less of an issue with plans involving large groups, as the haters can more easily avoid each other, or be seated far apart. But in plans involving smaller groups, these new, myriad personality clashes can cause even the most promising arrangements to fall apart. '"Is X going?" Because I’m not going if X is going,' my friend Y recently texted another friend. 'X has been invited, but I don’t know if she’ll come,' the friend replied. Immediately, the fun dinner she’d envisaged was tarnished by the worry of two no-shows, for whom she’d lose her £10 a head deposit.
The etiquette: Is X really so bad? Or are they worth dealing with for the sake of seeing those friends you really love? The only way to maintain absolute control over your environment is to stay in. Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face. And if you really can’t face X, try to cancel in good time, so the host knows where they stand.
'I Think I’m Coming Down With A Cold'
We’re all more mindful / paranoid about our health these days. We’re also more responsible. Nobody wants someone sneezing over the canapes, and nobody wants to be poorly over Christmas, a time of year where cold weather, busy diaries and seasonal stress combine to make flu a clear and present danger. But when it comes to rescinding on plans, how ill is too ill? Are you at death’s door, or merely tired after failing to clock up your mandatory 7.5 hours?
The etiquette: Ask yourself: what would you do if someone offered you a free ticket to your favourite band? If you’d find the energy for that, find it for this.
Parents: A Special Report
Not every plan revolves around friends, colleagues or peers. Sometimes, god help you, they involve your parents. Which is lovely - or would be, if they weren’t of a vintage that somehow contrives to be completely passive, right up until the point you make the plan, whereupon they promptly turn into world’s pickiest person. 'Oh, I really don’t mind where we go,' your mother will say, airily. 'You know me: I just go with the flow.' Excellent, you think, promptly booking tickets to an art exhibition followed by an early meal at a cosy new restaurant. 'Does it do chicken?' your mother will ask. 'I can’t eat steak any more. My teeth.' The art exhibition will be similarly problematic. 'Hockney? I’ve never liked him. Completely overrated, if you ask me.' Mother, we did ask you.
The etiquette: Tempting as it is to lose your temper - does she know how hard it was to get a Friday night booking at Steak, Steak & More Steak? - patience is required. Many people lose confidence as they age, especially when taken out of their comfort zone (ie: their living room). Their behaviour might just be nerves masquerading as obstinacy: remain calm and try to be encouraging. We’ll all have trouble chewing one day.
@lauracraik
