I’m sorry, I’m British

The second round of the Yeah Write Super Challenge occurred a couple of weeks ago.  I was given 48 hours to write a persuasive essay about what makes a good apology.

The results were released a few days ago. Unfortunately I was defeated this time and didn’t make it through to the final round. The feedback from the judges was, however, really positive and I think that my biggest downfall was that I didn’t spend enough time answering the question.

Between you and me, I have to confess that the reason for this was that I spent quite a lot of my allotted 48  hours drinking with my friends rather than adding more substance to my essay and I’m okay with that; the cocktails were bloody awesome.

My entry is below. For those who are interested, the feedback follows.

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I am British. Apologising is our thing. It has been bred into us for generations, we are relentlessly and defiantly apologetic.

If you inadvertently bump into a British person; they will say sorry for being in your way. In fact, if a British person bumps into anything, they will apologise; person, small dog, lamppost, door frame. They don’t discriminate, the “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry” will be blurted out regardless.

If you serve a British person a margarita when they asked for a mojito they will say “My bad, I should have been clearer when I ordered” and then they will drink the margarita, even if they hate the stuff.

If you call a British person by the wrong name, they will apologise for not being called the name that you used, as this would have saved you from the embarrassment of being incorrect. My name is Jo and I once apologised when, due to a terrible administrative error, my name was recorded as Ho.

We just can’t help ourselves; apologising comes as naturally as obsessing about the weather. In fact, what we really like to do is to apologise for our weather. Upon arrival at any British airport there should be a big sign that says “Welcome to the UK. It’s probably raining; we’re terribly sorry about that.”

This is all well and good but it could be argued that the volume of ‘sorrys’ uttered in the British Isles is so excessive that the sentiment behind the word has become diluted.

Research by the New York Bakery Co. in 2011 found that the average Brit says sorry at least eight times a day. This equates to nearly 3,000 times a year.

Now I don’t claim to be the most divine being in the world, but in my 39 years of life, I’m pretty sure that I’ve not managed to make 117,000 apology justifying mistakes.

So, have my ‘sorrys’ lost perspective? Are they ‘good’ apologies or is saying sorry just a habit?

In the UK, we use the word ‘sorry’ in the same way that other countries would say ‘Excuse me’. For example, if I’m in a bar and I’m hunting around for chairs (What? I’m old now, I like to sit down on a night out. Don’t judge me) and I spy what looks like an empty seat that has the potential to be relocated for my friends and I to sit on, I might say “Sorry, is this seat taken?” instead of “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”.

In this situation, my ‘sorry’ is a token gesture to apologise for my interruption. Which is nonsense because I’m not usually sorry to disturb these chair hoggers at all. I’m generally trying to understand why said chair hoggers are sitting at a table set for eight when there is only three of them and I’m judging them for sitting down when they can’t be more than about 21 years old.

To be honest, I’m also thinking that they should be making the most of the days when they can stand up all night. Soon they’ll be nearing 40 and the only way they’ll be able to stand up all night is if they have a nap before they go out, start the night with a Red Bull and wear flat comfortable shoes. But I can’t say this, so instead, I smile politely and say “Sorry, is this seat taken?”.

On reflection, I can see that this is not a good apology. I’m apologising for no reason with completely false sentiment; I’m not really sorry, I just want to plonk my weary body down in a chair.

So, how do experts define a good apology? According to Guy Winch from Psychology Today in an article titled ‘The five ingredients of an effective apology’ “…for apologies to be effective, they have to be focused on the other person’s needs and feelings, not your own.”

He goes on to say “…so many of our efforts [to apologise] are ineffective because we’re not trying to make the other person feel better, we’re trying to make ourselves feel better.”

Yesterday, I accidentally dropped my husband’s iPhone and smashed the corner of the screen. I said sorry lots of times, pulled my cutest sad face and fluttered my eyelashes at him…. and then, focussing very much on his needs and feelings, I bought him a bottle of Jack Daniels.

He was delighted with this method of apology. In fact, he was torn between two different bottles of bourbon in the shop and I’m quite certain that he’s trying to get me to smash the opposite corner of the phone screen so I’ll buy him the other bottle.

I’m pretty sure that guilt induced gift purchases is not the ingredient of an effective apology that Guy Winch had in mind. It is very clear to me that despite my British heritage causing my overwhelming desire to incessantly apologise, I am no good at it.

For that, I am truly sorry.

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What the judges really liked about I’m Sorry I’m British:

The essay was charming and engaging. Voice is clear and approachable, and the anecdotes are well-told and relatable.

I liked the way you injected humour into this essay, drawing the reader in with a casual and easy voice. Contextualising your perspective as British was a nice way to establish early that apologies are a regular and frequent part of your interactions with the world. You did a good job of referencing an outside source with regard to what makes a good apology.

Where the judges found room for improvement:

The essay neatly dodged the question, including only a sort of throwaway paragraph about the elements of a real apology which it then immediately diverted into a different anecdote. While elements of persuasion and anecdote were balanced, it would have been nice if the reader had used the spare 150 words or so to explore the thesis set up late in the game.

Though you went into some depth on how frequently the British apologize in daily life, the essay didn’t tackle the question what makes a good apology until the last third. When the essay did deal with the question, it was done well, with supporting information and a reflection on your application of advice.

Something Changed

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Party time

Facebook has a feature where it will take you back in time and show you what you were posting on social media in previous years.

This weekend I was reminded that on 19 January 2011, my Facebook status said “Josiejolene is the Google Queen”.

The fact that I have referenced my Google prowess is not unusual. I use Google about half a dozen times a day. So far this weekend, I’ve googled the following: “Is Gerard Butler Scottish?” because I honestly didn’t know. “Do foxes eat cats?” because I saw a fuck off big fox in the garden and I’m worried that Mr fox might fancy turning my cat into an hor d’oeuvre. “Where is the nearest McDonalds drive through?” because I could not be bothered to put ‘outdoor’ clothes on when we decided to have a bit of Maccy Ds for Saturday night dinner and “Is Dominic Cooper married?”… asking for a friend.

On first viewing, a Facebook status about googling from seven years ago means nothing at all, until I provide some context.

In 2011, I completed the Brighton marathon with a friend (I say ‘completed’ rather than ‘ran’ because due to a terrible chest infection and an unseasonably hot April day, to describe us as having ‘run’ any more than about half of it, would be a big fat lie).

When you train for a marathon, your entire world is focussed on running, you can’t eat without thinking about the impact your meal will have on your next run. You don’t drink much alcohol on a Saturday because you’re doing a long run on a Sunday.  You don’t watch telly because you’re running four nights a week and you generally become a running bore. Your yawn inducing conversations revolve around running schedules, trainers and injury avoidance.

My friend and I were fully aware of how dull we’d become. We had animated discussions about foam rolling, interval training and rehydration. We’d lived and breathed running for the past twelve months and we wanted a break.

We decided that after our marathon we would throw a party, with cocktails and cake and general merriment. Many of the things that had been lacking from our lives for the previous year. We’d visited a couple of venues in which to hold our party and we’d fallen in love with one in particular. Unfortunately the venue fell through. Because of this, my friend was despondent and lost her party enthusiasm. She suggested that we sack off the party and just go out for a few drinks instead.

Now, I like a party VERY MUCH and I was not happy that the fabulous event I had envisaged was being turned into a run of the mill night out. No! I was completing a 26.2 mile marathon goddam it. I wanted recognition and, more importantly, I wanted cake.

So, using my trusty Google search skills, on 19 January 2011, because I wasn’t giving up without a fight, I found an alternative venue.

This Google search has incredible significance in my life. This Google search was momentous. Due to this Google search, in the words of the magnificent Jarvis Cocker, lead singer of Pulp; Something Changed.

This Google search took us to a little bar that we could hire out for a party and invite all our friends and family to attend. This little bar had an Assistant Manager who helped us to create ‘running themed’ cocktails and allowed us to bring along a mahossive cake for everyone to eat. As an aside, if you think it’s a really good idea to get a cake with a picture on; in our case, a picture of me and my fellow marathon buddy showcasing our medals at the end of the race, remember that someone has to eat a piece of cake with your face on. No-one wants to eat a piece of cake with your face on so after the party you’re left with a bit of cake with your faces on. It’s a very sad sight.

Most importantly, this Google search introduced me to this little bar’s Assistant Manager. His name was Brad.

Brad is now my husband.

19 January 2011’s Google search, I salute you.

The Grand Marathon Party