Quite

Praise (Sort of) for Quite

‘A book? Hahahahaha’

Tilda, 14

‘Seriously Mum, who’s going to read this?’

Jake, 17

‘Can I highly recommend a David Walliams instead?’

Arthur, 8

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Claudia Winkleman 2020

Claudia Winkleman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © October 2020 ISBN: 9780008421670

Version 2020-09-22

Note to Readers

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 Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008421656

For Jake, Tilda and Bear

Contents

Cover

Praise

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Well, Quite

Well, Here We Are

Quite: Important (To Me)

Napping

You Mustn’t Stay With Him if …

Swagger

A Small Lecture About Art

Here Comes the Summer

A Fringe

Bridge

Holidays

Shoulders

Quite: Big

Strictly

Being Wrong

Friendship

Sports Day

The Tube

Fashion

Charlie Bucket and Elliott

Weddings

Quite: True

Parenthood

Squirrel Etiquette

You Must Stay With Him if

Power

Nurses

T-Shirts

Famous People

Quite: Inconvenient

Their Names

Dear Men,

Picnics

The Good Bad

Teachers

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Don’t Expect Him to Be Your 100 Per Cent

Quite: Bossy

Eyeliner

The Fridge

The Worst Kind of People (Yes, I’m Talking About Parents)

Do It in Black

In Praise of (Almost) Nothing…

Jackie Collins

Quite: Opinionated (I Know)

Shopping

Avoid

Skiing

To Be Honest

Help

They’re Going to Leave, Aren’t They?

And Finally…

Acknowledgements

About the Publisher

Well,

Well, Here We Are

First things first, thank you so much for picking this up and considering a book from me – a short, orange woman who occasionally reads out loud on the telly. Even if you’re going to chuck it to the other side of the bookshop, can I just say I’m extremely grateful. I am an enormous fan of a book, so am over the moon you are contemplating this one when we both know there are so many great ones on offer.

I want to be frank about what you can expect from me. If you’re looking for a very serious tome, and you don’t like anything flippant or trivial or lighthearted, or if you’re interested in the Chartists or the pandemic or want to learn something practical and useful then this isn’t the book for you.

Don’t get me wrong, I have covered some pressing issues. I think I have been persuasive on the subject of voicemail and fairly brutal about the effect of fitting rooms on my wellbeing. I’m confident I have made a strong case for why you can’t sleep with someone who doesn’t have the vigour to get you both in a cab and I’ve had a good look at the reasons why spray tan and eyeliner are essential to my confidence.

I’ve tried to be as honest as I can, but it should be said that I am prone to exaggeration. At one point I say I’d be happy if the Christmas decorations went up in June but on reflection this probably isn’t quite true. I love Christmas for many reasons but the amount of times I’d have to hoover pine needles from the living room floor over a six-month period doesn’t bear thinking about.

I’ve written a little about art, because when I started to try to identify the things I really care about this came tumbling out, alongside quite a specific treatise about different sorts of boots. Great paintings have an enormous power to capture a moment, to really stop you in your tracks and make you completely forget about anything else, but we should all own boots that give off a certain attitude too. They have the power to make you walk like someone who is on their way to a wild party with a roguish rockstar, even if you are actually just going to Tesco Metro for some eggs.

I’ve also covered fringe maintenance, because my hair has basically given me a career. I talk about my kids a lot (they will never read this) and relationships (I’ve told my husband I’ve been freakishly positive about him – we’re safe) and I fear I may have got a bit preachy when I write about good manners and wearing only black. I’ve also found that I have some quite strong opinions on the people we do – and definitely don’t – need in our lives.

And why is it called Quite? Well, because it’s my favourite word. It’s a raised eyebrow, an aside. ‘Well, quite.’ But at the same time, it’s firm, restrained and it manages your expectations:

‘I think you’d quite like this film.’

‘That egg sandwich was quite good.’

And that’s what we need, I think. Things to be quite good. We’re bombarded with a lot of images of ‘perfect’ these days – Instagram, fashion, general showing off. But perfect is boring. High expectations are a killer. It’s certainly possible to make the perfect omelette (see here) and find the perfect t-shirt (takes work but is achievable, see here), but the perfect relationship? The perfect New Year’s Eve? It’s a solid no.

The thing about ‘quite good’ is that it leaves you somewhere to go. Because, so long as you have great friends, peanut butter and the opportunity for a nap then everything is broadly fine, and there is always the chance that something (or someone) will come along and blow your socks off. We all know that the best dates are the ones you almost didn’t go on and the best nights out are those that were supposed to be just a quick vodka round the corner but ended up with dancing and laughing till the mascara ran down your face.

So I would like to make a case for the underrated and the imperfect. You can buy that very glamorous kaftan and you can spend three days planning the most impeccable dinner party, but you probably won’t feel like Beyoncé on a yacht and the award-winning cheese board is not why the evening was fun. Can I recommend instead that you put on a good pair of jeans, smear (and I really do mean smear) some eyeliner in the vicinity of your eyelids and just go about your day. If the kids have done their homework, if the person you’re with is kind and knows how to laugh at themselves, if you’ve remembered to call your best friend back then that is really quite good. Everything else is just sprinkles.

Quite

Napping

Yes, on first glance this might feel like an odd place to start. Wait, I’ve just started reading, she’s telling me to have a snooze? The answer is going to be an almighty yes. Yes to napping, yes to sleep, yes to being idle. I will explain …

When I was about twelve my mum had lunch with a brain surgeon. I’m not sure why. She was at a big work thing and, by happenstance, found herself sitting next to him. After an excellent and fascinating chat about how the brain works and funding for the NHS he said to her, ‘By the way, always let your children sleep, it’s the greatest life insurance we have. The brain grows and the body fixes itself while at rest. Anyway, have a great day, it was nice to meet you.’ That’s all he said, he didn’t really elaborate and she didn’t ask a gazillion questions but from that day onwards everything changed.

It wasn’t subtle, it wasn’t slow and there wasn’t a big explanation. She came home and simply said, ‘I will never tell you to get up at the weekends again.’ I know, right? He must have been pretty compelling. And that was it. We were allowed, encouraged even, to get into bed. Homework’s a bit tough? Stop looking at your physics and just get back under the covers and close your eyes. Here, I’ll draw the curtains. Before we watch Dynasty why don’t you curl up on the sofa and try and have a catnap? That’s how it went.

It wasn’t like that at my friends’ houses. They were awed when I told them and most came back to mine on a Friday night and stayed till Sunday – four of us top to toe in a single bed. I had the only mother on earth who didn’t come in at 9, 10 and 11am and say ‘You’re wasting the day.’ She didn’t sweep into my bedroom and open the curtains and announce, ‘The weather is wonderful. Up you get, sleepyheads!’ She’d let us sleep for hours. Midday would pass, even 1pm.

Lunch was moved later and later so my brother and I could laze about in our rooms. If either of us were still asleep then everyone had to be extra quiet so as not to wake us up. No radio, no TV, no loud chatting, absolutely no vacuuming or banging about with pots and pans. Shhh, she’s asleep. She’s growing and needs to rest. Why is the football so loud? I’ve told you, I think she might be catching 40 winks.

When people ask me about my childhood I remember all sorts of things. Screaming with laughter with my dad and sister, his pasta sauce, my step-mum’s teriyaki steak on special occasions. I remember my mum getting ready and the clickety clack of high heels on pine floors and the smell of Giorgio Beverly Hills (we were so ’80s) and watching Trading Places on a loop with my brother. But the main thing that comes to mind, my real resounding memory, is of napping.

Sleep was good for me; everyone was delighted when I slept. I woke up after a good ten hours only to pad downstairs, eat all the Sun-Pat I could find (I once had it on raw mushrooms, I don’t advise) and then I’d trail back upstairs again, sometimes with a cup of tea or a Diet Coke and I’d get back into bed and manage maybe another 45 minutes.

I have not grown out of this – I still love napping now. In fact, I’m all for idleness, for doing nothing. I’m hugely in favour of taking a load off. I’m not sure when we equated ‘busy’ with success or doing nothing with wasting time. The implication is: you’re so sluggish, so idle, so slovenly.

Can’t talk now. Rush rush rush. I’m just so, so busy. Seriously, you thought I was hectic two months ago? That was nothing, I’m now so frantic I’m going to lose my head. We’ll have to diarise a catch-up. Does next Thursday at 12.50 work? I’ll have a free ten before lunch.

Most of us feel we’re on hamster wheels – homework, cooking, showering, bedtime story, back downstairs, on our phones, watching the latest boxset (FFS put on Tiger King, we’re days behind, I feel like an arsehole), meetings, weekend plans, calls, conference calls (‘Hi, it’s Phil here. I’m going to introduce six people on this call but then only I am going to talk. That’s just me, cool’) and then it’s lunches and more meetings and racing home and changing and drinks and then out for supper and then home and too exhausted to brush teeth/have sex/laugh about Phil on the conference call and then it happens again. This may feel hard to avoid sometimes but I don’t understand why it’s to be lauded, why anyone thinks it’s a good idea.

The really successful people – I mean the spectacularly smart ones – seem to be gardening and reading books and pottering about (have you seen their Insta stories? They’re literally drinking martinis on a barge). Let’s emulate that. Relax, don’t show off about being busy, boast about being idle, then you’ve done something truly right.

And the best place to start in order to achieve this, I strongly believe, is napping. My bed is my safe place, my happy place and I don’t think it should just be for nights. I’m happy to spring out of it at 7am and make three different breakfasts (you’re right, my kids are totally spoilt, why don’t they all like the same cereal?) and jump on the Central Line to drop the little one off. I whizz home with an enormous smile on my face because I know that, after a coffee and some radio, it’s time to go back to sleep. My friends call it ‘a meeting’. They’ll text, ‘Claud, call after your meeting.’ When we’re filming Strictly, I’ll go in for the morning, rehearse, get two full spray tans (I simply can’t present that show unless I’ve had a double dip) and then I’ll just lie down on the sofa and get a quick 30 minutes.

I think I like napping because it feels slightly illegal, stolen, naughty. I’m not interested in actual rebellion (I used to hand in my homework early for god’s sake) but a nap is about the right level for me. I can’t advise enough that you should do it too. It’s a small but lovely act of defiance of this mad rule that we should appear busy at all times.

To get you started, let me explain the basic nap laws that should be adhered to.

A MORNING NAP

This is for the beginner. You think you’ve slept enough? Don’t be so sure. I am positive we can eke out a little more. This won’t mess with your sleep in the night so it’s a great one to start with. Your room shouldn’t be pitch black but instead curtains half drawn and I recommend you do not submerge yourself under the duvet but instead choose a light covering. Use a blanket if you have one, or I often use the coat I’ve worn on the school run, or, in an emergency, a towel. Don’t set an alarm as you’ll naturally wake up after 30 or 45. A small warning: when you wake up you’ll be ravenous. Please make sure there’s bread and butter in the house.

A LUNCHTIME NAP

You must eat lunch after the nap. This is imperative as you’ll fall into a better slumber if you’re not too full. This can be done with blinds/curtains fully closed and phone on silent as it’s such a special treat. A small note: you’ll love this nap so much you’ll cancel all future lunches. I know she’s your best friend and she wants to meet in Pret for a tuna baguette and a catch-up but I’m afraid you’ll want to chat on the phone at 3 instead.

If you’re at the office sneak off into a cubicle or a pod (these things exist) and put on your headphones and turn away from everyone. They’ll think you’re ‘working’ and instead you’ll shut down. Better than another talk about plans for the weekend and weak tea.

A LATE AFTERNOON NAP

I don’t want to blow my own trumpet but this is only for the advanced napper and should not be attempted without prior experience. The truth is that this is pretty close to bedtime so it’s quite risky. This is the bungee jump of naps, the parachute dive of sleeps.

It’s 6pm and you’re back from work. The kids are arguing, your husband wants to watch the latest Scandi thriller and you want some hula hoops and Dirty Dancing. You’re stressed about dinner and all you have is a butternut squash (never good), some wholemeal pasta (please) and half a bottle of barbeque sauce (which is possibly off). There’s only one thing for it – a nap. For this one you’re going to need an alarm. Thirty minutes should do it but any more and we’re in hazardous territory. Close the blinds and get under the duvet (I know). Shoes off but not pyjamas yet. You’ll fall asleep incredibly fast and the buzz of the alarm will be annoying. Get up, brush teeth and come back into the kitchen a new woman ready to make squash soup and prepared to watch (another) dark murder mystery set in Oslo.

You Mustn’t Stay With Him if …

Do you remember when she got together with him and we said it wouldn’t last but they’re still really happy together and it’s quite weird but also lovely? Yes, exactly. Relationships are strange and what would be an absolute dealbreaker for one person is a sweet quirk to someone else. My husband and I fundamentally disagree about buffets and baby names yet we have made it work. That said, and I don’t wish to be reductive here, but there are some lights-flashing, sirens-blaring, nailed-on warning signs that I strongly believe should never be ignored. Tell me if you disagree …

HE CAN’T GET A CAB

‘Yeah, you’re probably right, it’s time to leave. I have a taxi app but I don’t have much signal – do you know the wi-fi code here? Why don’t we just see if we can find a taxi on the street? It’s only a slight drizzle and your heels aren’t that high. Or we could just wait and see if someone else is leaving this party soon and they could give us a lift if they’re going in the same direction? Yes, let’s just stand in the corridor here near the kitchen and see if anyone looks like they might be getting their coat.’

Um, come again? What? Pardon? Hello? Have you broken into another language? See you, dude. Night night. It’s been fun flirting with you, I had thought you were cute, you made a joke about canoes and I believed this could be a thing. You’re a bit wet though, a bit slow on the uptake. Please don’t call me – in fact, delete me from your contacts. Will I be going back to yours so you can play with my knicker elastic for 30 minutes? I don’t think so.

Look, I don’t like a ‘strong’ man (‘I could easily lift up this table. I’m really good at fighting, did that bloke look at you funny? Because I’ll have him. Let me get that door for you babe – look, I almost took it off its hinges’) but I do want someone to get me home or back to his with some urgency, with some speed, with a certain amount of vigour. It’s raining – you stay here, I’ll grab us a cab. Ring a ding ding. Hot, cool, assured, right there. Back to yours for a tequila on the rocks and an old Carrs cracker covered in Primula? Why not. I might even let you have a go on my boobs, the left one is award winning.

HE DOESN’T HAVE ANY FRIENDS

If you’re fifteen and he hasn’t found his tribe yet then sure, let him be a bit solo, a tiny bit lost. That’s adorable, should be admired; take him under your wing and be his first kiss. Beyond this point, a man who hasn’t collected people (I’m not talking about miniature ceramic collections here – any collectors of anything should generally be avoided) just isn’t worth spending time on.

How has he got through life without knowing that the key is friendship, without having endless nights out laughing with mates? How can you even think about licking his neck if his contacts file is empty? Something’s up, something’s wrong. If he always wants to go out with your friends, to your parties, to sit on the sofa with your sister, this is all lovely, but where are his people? Where are his school friends, his work friends, his ‘we met on a night bus and just clicked’ friends? A man without a gang is not to be entertained. There’s something off. Or he’s married. Next.

HE SPLITS THE BILL

Look, I’m a staunch feminist, I’m all for equal everything and I don’t need a man to keep me in shoes, cashews, under a roof, anything. But if he looks at the check on an early date and says, ‘To be honest, the sparkling water is quite expensive here but I’m not going to make a thing about it – let’s just go halves,’ then you need to pick up the whole bill, leave a big tip and immediately exit from his life.

A generous man is what we’re after. I want him to get the rounds in, to send his mum flowers on a random Thursday to cheer her up, I want him to book tickets to stuff, to buy you personalised Marmite just because he felt like it. I want whatever money he has to pour through his fingers. He might not have a mortgage or savings or a pension and his over-spending might be infuriating but it’s still better than the other kind. (By the way, even if he does have a pension you don’t want to hear about it. If a man ever starts a chat with, ‘The funny thing is, I went with Scottish Widows,’ then you must know he’s going to bore you to tears within the first month. Also mate, define ‘funny’.)

You know the ones – they keep a tally about who paid for what last in their friendship group, they frown every time you say you bought a new lipstick/scented candle/pen. He’ll say, ‘Sure, it’s nice but did you need it?’ I mean … What does need have to do with anything? These men weigh up the pros and cons of life by working out how much it will cost and this just isn’t sexy.

I don’t care if they have money or not, and of course it’s absolutely fine for you to pay for everything, it’s the constant halving I can’t stomach and neither should you. Also, if he’s not generous at the bar – ‘Look at them, they just got engaged, let’s send over a couple of glasses of wine’ – then he’s going to be absolutely useless in the sack. He’ll be selfish, a bit too precise and he’ll insist on a ‘wipe down’ afterwards (there’s officially nothing worse). My girlfriends and I have tried and tested this fact so you don’t have to.

HE BELIEVES IN STAR SIGNS

The second he looks at you (even if he’s twinkly and witty and wearing great old jeans and an oversized fisherman’s sweater) and says, ‘I’m a Gemini so you could say I’ve got two sides,’ you must pretend you left your Corby trouser press on and hurry home to sort it out immediately. Never look back, he’s – I’m sorry but I can’t be gentle about this – a moron. I’m not saying it’s only OK to get naked with people with a PhD (although I’d highly recommend it) but if his knowledge of science has resulted in him believing a twelfth of the population behaves a certain way because they happen to be Capricorns you absolutely can’t spend another moment with him, fisherman’s sweater or not.

HE HAS AN OPINION ABOUT YOUR APPEARANCE

You’re a little bit giddy about him, he has strong hands (you’re right, that is code), he asks lovely questions about your brother and sister and you think he’s funny. You’ve met his flatmate and he’s charming and there’s talk of a weekend away. How magnificent, is this the one? And then suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere, you start getting a little bit tense around him – you are extra conscious of making him happy.

The opinions started small – ‘Wow, I really like it when you wear your hair up’ – and then move onto, ‘You should really wear tighter jeans, seriously, there’s nothing wrong with looking sexy.’ And all of a sudden it’s, ‘Why have you put on so much lipstick? You know I prefer it when you wear just a light gloss, why don’t you nip to the bathroom to wipe it off so we can enjoy our night?’

Please understand that none of this is about what you look like; it’s about making you feel slightly small, slightly nervous, just a bit less than – it’s about control. If he’s nuts about you (and of course he should be) he won’t really care or notice if you’re in a tracksuit, a ball gown or wearing a full squirrel fancy dress costume (OK, he probably will notice that one) but he’ll love you for everything that you are. You can be a goth, in baggy clothes, just back from a run, in the tightest top on the planet. It’s all gravy, it’s all fine. Do not try to please him with your appearance, just like you wouldn’t expect him to change his for you. Unless of course he wears top-to-toe Hackett in which case you have my permission to ‘accidentally’ put all his striped polo tops on a boil wash. That’s just sensible.