Most mornings, I have a brief glance at webcams from all over the world, particularly those based at places I have visited and some I haven’t. I don’t really know why. It’s probably something as simple as a little escapism from the bleak midwinter that in Britain seems to go on forever. On some of the YouTube hosted webcams, people chat with each other, engaging with total strangers as if they were besties. It’s harmless enough, an extension of the escapist world of social media in general and Facebook particular. Sometimes, though, the stuff you read on the webcam pages, and indeed on other social media pages. is quote bonkers.
One camera I view on a regular basis is in Lanzarote, a Canary Island which has become a bit of a family favourite in the last decade or so. The webcam I view is situated in a bar overlooking the walkway and a small part of the beach in Costa Teguise. Normally, the weather is warm and dry throughout the year, albeit accompanied by a strong wind typical of Lanzarote and its near neighbour Fuerteventura. The weather is the big appeal, as well the fact that the Canaries are clean, safe and it’s cheap to eat and drink. Although there is actually some decent scenery beyond the built-up towns and resorts, these are the reasons people, like me, visit. During the last month or so in parts of the Canaries, the weather has been unusually grim. And boy, do some folk let us know about it. I swear the next bit is true.
I got home last week after a particularly busy session at our food bank, where once again we we were able to help people who in many cases had come to the end of their tether. Often without warning, that regular life had fallen apart. A heart attack or stroke, an unexpected week without work, a sudden benefit suspension, usually Universal Credit (UC), or a million and one other potential crises had shaken someone’s world and here they were, where they didn’t want to be, at the last chance saloon, if you will: a place that would provide food and toiletries that they would otherwise go without. You can see the trauma in people’s eyes, the shock, the distress, the “how could this happen to me?”, but here they were. I sat down at my PC, flipped to the aforementioned YouTube webcam and idly speed read the inane comments, almost always about the weather at home. I stopped at a series of comments on chat that left me gobsmacked.
A woman who was staying in Lanzarote, a luxury not afforded to the millions using food banks by the way, posted a series of utterly pathetic, self-pitying comments. I’ll paraphrase, fairly I believe, and try to lump all the comments into one paragraph. It went something like this:
“The weather is crap. I am so unhappy. I feel so cold. I usually only come to Lanzarote for a week but I came out for longer but I wish I hadn’t. The weather is crap. I am so unhappy. I feel homesick. I am going home to (insert British airport) tomorrow. Can’t wait, awful thing to say but it’s been awful here (actual words, this last sentence, as is the next sentence). They say back to the cold. I haven’t warmed up since I have been here thank you for all your support on here.”
This is just an excerpt of this woman’s comments, which appeared on a near daily basis. I found it to be head-shakingly awful to read and I just wonder what she was thinking about by sharing such self-obsessed dreck. I never comment or reply, but various people do, some in support or her. I knew straight away what this was all about: first world problems.
Most of us have been on holidays when the weather has disappointed. Until I was in my twenties, when we could afford to holiday, it was in West Bay in Dorset. One summer break in around 1970 saw it piss down for the whole time we were there. Day after day, squashed in a tiny caravan with a parent and three grandparents as the wind and rain battered the windows, I don’t look back feeling sorry for myself. I was grateful to anywhere on holiday, even if we couldn’t afford to do anything or go on any trips when we got there. Maybe being brought up in a poor family helped me appreciate what we had and not whine about it? I can’t imagine if the internet existed back then my family members wallowing in a pool of self-pity about it.
The Lanzarote complainer is at it again this morning, complaining that: “I know it looks lovely out there but the wind is quite bitter don’t know if I will be back again.” It’s 17c of bitter in Lanza, as it happens, and a balmy 3C where she is flying to later on today. I have some serious advice for her: just don’t go back if it’s getting you down that much. Count yourself lucky that you are able to afford the luxury of being able to afford a holiday in the Canary Islands while the food banks of your actual homeland are full to bursting. First world problems like yours, love, are not problems at all.
The internet is a wonderful thing, to be sure, but it brings with it places that aren’t real, like chat groups and the like and comforting thought they might be, it’s clearly very easy to forget the real world as it is and not how we imagine it to be. And if it destroys empathy and perspective, as I believe this tale illustrates, then maybe some of us need to get a grip. Anonymous of Lanzarote certainly needs to.
