Steve and I are halfway through series 3 of The Bear and I’m not entirely sure what is going on. I hung on every word and finely tweezered ingredient in the first two series, but this one feels like five people shouting at me at once, and I can’t concentrate on any of them. Except Ep 6 with Tina’s backstory; that was exquisite. I will continue though, because Carmy.
At the core of this series - which, if you don’t know The Bear, can be summarised as: Highly dysfunctional family transform Chicago greasy spoon into Michelin restaurant - is Chef Carmy’s list of Non-Negotiables. A list of the high standards by which the restaurant should be run, NO EXCUSES.
I asked Steve what my Non-Negotiables are. I can only think of one: A mug of hot, strong tea in the morning before I do anything else.
He said, You like things to be good quality, which is true, but isn’t something I’d write on a list and aggressively tape to my bakery wall. As although I have high standards on many things in life, I am also a professional corner-cutter.
Corner cutting is very much not the cultural vibe these days. People seem to love setting rules for themselves and then telling everyone about them. This week alone I have digested the non-negotiables of two friends, one fitness influencer, and Gabby Logan. Many of these lists involve kettle bells, and meditation.
Yesterday I enjoyed the final couple of hours of the house to myself before the school holidays. The next time this will happen is on Thursday 5th September not that I’m counting. I spent my time working on my biceps (lifting a heavy mug of tea to my face) and meditating on Rightmove. These things were highly negotiable, and were just what I felt like doing at the time.
I would like to be able to do this occasional idle frittering without the background guilt and anxiety that I am not future-proofing my body and mind at every available opportunity.
I am so grateful for the growing awareness and availability of information about the perimenopause and the menopause, and fairer division of emotional labour, and mental health, and equality. What an age we live in where we can have open conversations, across the generations, about all of these things. But I wish it didn’t lead me to feel like I should be bullet journalling my life goals. I can’t even find the shopping list I started earlier.
For me, it always comes back to kettle bells. I know that as a woman in my forties I should be building muscle mass, and my algorithm splashes cold buckets of anxiety about this into my face every time I scroll. After my Dad died I had counselling, which was helpful I think? I don’t have a parallel Annabel to ask. I find it easy to chat anyway. But I wound down the sessions after a year as I realised I wasn’t discussing trauma so much as saying and I know I’m supposed to get kettle bells, but I don’t have anywhere to put them, a little too frequently, and was perhaps stretching the psychologist’s remit.
I don’t want another rule, self-imposed or otherwise. I don’t want bloody kettle bells. I want a break from hearing what I should do. I want to embrace the chaos of July, and the abandonment of my routine until Thursday 5th September. So long as every day starts with a mug of tea, it’s going to be a good day to be alive.
One of our children asked me this week how you should feel when you hear that someone fancies you. I told them to notice whether they feel good, and that will tell them something important. That I knew I was onto a winner with their Dad because neither of us played it cool, and going out with him was fun and easy. We just straight-up liked each other and rang each other all the time and hung out a lot, and then he got rid of a dead mouse in my flat and I knew I loved him.
I thought back to my earlier dating life, and the book The Rules - remember that? My GOD. This was a deranged dating manual by rictus-grinned joy-sappers Ellen Fein and Sherrie Schneider, published in the mid 90s. I didn’t own it but we watched the series in my university flat. It struck us as such a wildly ineffective way of bagging our desired indie boys.
Ellen and Sherrie said that to get a man to like you, you should ignore all your finely evolved biological instincts, and just be an utter arse.
Basically hate someone into loving you.
They had 35 non-negotiable rules, and below are all of the ones I broke when dating Steve. They are bullet pointed, for easy transfer into your bullet journal:
Don't Talk to a Man First
Don't Talk Too Much
Don't Meet Him Halfway or Go Dutch on a Date
Don't Call Him and Rarely Return His Calls
Always End Phone Calls First
Don't Accept a Saturday Night Date after Wednesday
How to Act on Dates 1, 2, and 3 [I haven’t read this chapter in detail but haha I’m 100% sure I broke it]
How to Act on Dates 4 through Commitment Time [Ditto]
Always End the Date First
Stop Dating Him if He Doesn't Buy You a Romantic Gift for Valentine's Day
Don't See Him More than Once or Twice a Week
Don't Open Up Too Fast
Be Honest but Mysterious
Don't Leave Your Things in His Apartment
Don't Break The Rules [scraping the barrel here]
Particularly enjoying
Don't Discuss The Rules with Your Therapist BECAUSE THEY’LL TELL YOU TO STOP BEING SUCH AN ARSE AND WE’LL LOSE OUR JOBS
Here are my Rules: Be nice to the person you fancy, and drink tea. Kettle bells entirely optional.
I’ll finish my Thought for the Day (any Radio 4 commissions through my agent please), with a recommendation for ’s Substack. I don’t know Isabel, but I enjoy her writing enormously and I felt extra solidarity with her this week. She talks about how she’s taught her 9 year old how to make her a cup of tea, which is a skill I’m happy to have also passed onto our 9 year old. She writes, charmingly, that he currently sees this as a treat for him, which is exactly how it rolls in this household too. My daughter actually asks if she can make me one please.
Joyful corner cutting for my one true Non-Negotiable.
Naww I love the careful tea transportation. Up stairs is advanced level!