All week my work WhatsApp group has been pinging with messages from colleagues.
‘Anyone have any flower sprinkles? I really want to elevate my packet of Monster Munch,’ read one. ‘Ahh, a lovely, cold, damp towel after a hard day,’ said another accompanied by a picture of a heap of dirty laundry by a washing machine.
Yes, you’ve guessed it, like most of the country we are obsessed with Netflix’s new Meghan Markle show – whoops, my mistake – Meghan Sussex.
With Love, Meghan is so unintentionally hilarious and so gloriously lacking in awareness that it’s become a must-watch.
My absolute favourite – and the most telling part of the whole series – is when she asks her guest, the American actress and comedian Mindy Kaling, about the kind of parties she throws for her three young children.
‘I don’t know if you go all out for your kids’ parties or not?’ the Duchess enquires, to which Mindy replies: ‘The woman I hire does.’ Priceless.
What is the point in having someone on your show to talk about organising children’s parties when she’s never actually planned one because she has the wealth to outsource it?
Dr Max Pemberton says the children’s party tips Meghan shares on her new Netflix show could make some feel inadequate
Why not ask a working mum who doesn’t have staff and millions in the bank to offer her tips on hosting a celebration on a budget? That’s something I’d watch.
As amusing and unrealistic as the series is, I do worry how it may make some parents feel. There will be some looking at the endless crudités, charcuterie boards and bespoke party bags and worrying that they are letting their children down by not providing something similar.
Let me tell you, you are not. No child cares about this stuff. It’s competitive and performative parenting, plain and simple. Give kids a ball and put them in the garden and they’ll be fine.
A month or so ago I wrote about my nephew’s joy when I gave him a present. He ignored the actual gift and spent all afternoon playing with the huge cardboard box it came in.
I was heartened to hear from so many readers that they, too, had experienced the same thing with children.
It’s reassuring that while parents might fuss and worry about stimulating children, their imagination means that anything can be exciting, no matter how dull and boring it might seem to us jaded adults.
Kids make their own fun and games, they don’t need floral displays, home-made jam and balloon arches. This way madness lies.
No wonder so many mothers on parenting site Mumsnet were incensed at Meghan’s antics. ‘It’s literally giving yourself a ton of work in order to laud it over others with how thoughtful and talented you are,’ wrote one.
As for grown-up entertaining, all I can say is that if you ever find yourself feeling compelled to mix your guests individual cocktails in pre-chilled jam jars, then find some easier-going friends – the kind who realise socialising is about the company and are happy with a bag of Doritos and a pre-mixed M&S tinny. Throughout, Meghan was at pains to point out that things don’t need to be perfect while the implicit message was very much the opposite.
Being told that being perfect doesn’t matter by someone whose Le Creuset skillet pan matches their outfit is hardly reassuring.
Meghan’s version of hostessing isn’t relaxed and carefree, it doesn’t say ‘don’t worry if you can’t be bothered to make a cake, no one will notice if you get it from Lidl’.
Instead it’s high-octane and stress inducing because the vast majority of people – at least the ones I know – barely have time to tie their laces, let alone tie bows around mason jars.
She assured us that even those of us in ‘a little flat in London’ can have a slice of this picture postcard bucolic life.
Oh really? In a cost-of-living crisis when many can’t afford basic groceries, let alone edible flowers, it just feels like mean-girl trolling. There are no rainbow carrots or Persian cucumbers in my nearest Tesco. I’ve checked.
Every episode smacked of the kind of shallow, toxic positivity we see on Instagram. I watched very much feeling as though Meghan was trying too hard to convince me that everything is fine in her world – in fact, more than fine, amazing (as she says repeatedly) joyful, wholesome!
There’s a moment when she turns her back on a pan of milk that’s warming on the stove for freshly brewed coffee and it nearly overboils.
If only she’d just shrugged her shoulders, tipped the whole thing away and said: ‘Forget it, who has time to make sweetened, warm, frothy milk? You can have instant coffee with cold milk from the fridge like everyone else.’
Now that would have been relatable.
Four years after becoming a widower, actor Richard E Grant still communicates with his late wife, Joan Washington, including via email.
‘I have no woolly, spiritual delusion that she’s hearing this, or that I’m going to get a response, but it somehow keeps the connection going,’ he said.
I have come across this often.
A friend who lost her husband of 40 years keeps a room in her house where she put some of his things. Each day, just before bed, she sits in there with a cup of tea and chats to him. To her it feels natural and comforting.
A patient who travelled a lot after his wife died would write her postcards. On his return he would store them in her old bedside cabinet.
Far from being strange, finding a way to communicate with a lost loved one and keeping them alive in your heart and mind can be a wonderful way to channel grief.
Talking through your grief
Prince William suggests NHS staff be given ‘enforced breaks’ in their careers to help prevent burnout.
But I’m not convinced by this because sometimes the routine of work makes problems manageable.
I recall a friend at medical school bereft after splitting up with her boyfriend, asking one of her professors for time off to deal with it. He refused – instead insisting that she join his 7am ward rounds.
We were all furious on her behalf, assuming he was being cruel when really he was trying to help. He knew taking time off for her mental health would achieve nothing. She needed to focus on something other than herself. Now an eminent surgeon, she agrees that the tough love approach was right.
Yes, there are times when a break from work is needed. But equally there are times when work is the answer.