Are people still talking about their 2016? Motivated by my irritating need to bank thoughts on a ropey dying blog, I’ve decided to return to DirtyScribbles to offer an extraordinary tale about a year which has somehow topped the last.
Personally, of course. The wider-world of 2016 has been almost impressively diabolical. A never-ending sequence of shock horrors which transformed western national identities over night, divided humans like never before in recent memory, and made us all realise how the likes of David Bowie and Prince aren’t immortal godlike forces – but tragically fragile humans like the rest of us.
But let’s remember them as the magnificent stars they were. Heck, no one wants to be human right about now.
Moving topical glum aside, 2016 from my surprised eyes has been a bizarre ascension towards everything I’ve always hoped for. After leaving ‘intern’ status at the Telegraph way back in January, I bumped my way across jobs before landing as an entertainment keyboard smasher at Metro online. This is superb for many reasons, but being able to officially call myself a ‘journalist’ is perhaps the simplest joy of them all.
Alright, I’m partially lying – because there’s the perks. The wonderful perks which allowed me to chat to Russell Howard in a Camden pub about death, come to grips with myself on video while quizzing Kelly MacDonald about Trainspotting 2, and jet off to Toronto to write silly about my ventures around the sets and sights of X-Men.
How’d you like them link sprinkles? I think I’m getting better at casual acts of bragging. Here’s a top 2016 banger to take your mind off that sick feeling frothing in your stomach. The after-effects of extreme twattery are an ever-present threat to us all.
Through all the immense chats and opportunities however, it was an email which I’ve treasured from my time in 2016. A certain glorious sentence within an email, to be exact.
For context, I wrote a largely personal piece celebrating the tenth anniversary of The Killers’ second album, Sam’s Town. In the hope of getting the article to the band’s fan base, I shot it across to their manager – a move which usually yields little to no results due to their own busy lives dealing with worldwide fame.
So not expecting anything back from it, I carried on my business scoffing Pret sandwiches and binging on trailers for the new Legend Of Zelda – before this plonked in my inbox and blew my mind into oblivion.
Hmm. Right, let’s just blow up those first words for a second.
Okay, so as a naturally sceptical human being – my mind immediately started weighing up the percentage of this actually being true.
Point 1: They didn’t have to reply and could have simply ignored my chummy advances.
Point 2: I tagged the band in Twitter posts – so perhaps Brandon Flowers did have a sweeping look around the web and caught my flogging in action.
Point 3: Why would he lie about such a claim? Would their manager tease an innocent fan with a quick throwaway ‘yeah he loved it mate’ without so much as a ‘many thanks xoxo’? Surely not.
By this thorough analysis – I’ve calculated this sentence has a 73% chance of being an accurate statement. A 73% chance of being the beautiful words to set off my inner 14-year-old on a screaming naked run across the unsuspecting streets of Streatham.
That was an awful lot of experimental erection stroking – please enjoy this trailer for Legend Of Zelda: A Breath Of The Wild which looks amazing by all accounts.
All this joy hasn’t been one continuous spree however, with new working pressures, moving to a new house in London and generally assembling life down south causing a few bumps along the way. But on the whole, I can’t really complain about 2016. To be honest.
So while I’ve already littered some links throughout this piece, here’s my annual dump of the pieces of work I’m personally most proud of this year. Please enjoy.
So where do we go from here? Who knows. There’s a few ventures I’m hoping to experiment with over 2017. This random URL on the internet is also sitting here a bit pointlessly, isn’t it? I should probably sort that out.
For now, hopefully events over the next year will continue to fall suspiciously in my favour. They probably won’t, life is a dick like that. But I’ll be ready to wrestle luck’s turning tide with my dainty, keyboard-stubbed boy hands when the cold sting of karma inevitably comes to whip.
Wait, you want another 2016 banger? Of course you do. You deserve it.
Happy New Year!