'How to Fail', with Chloe Lamb

Recent years have seen the popularisation of 'failure' in media discourse, partly by Elizabeth Day with her 'How to Fail' podcast.

I, personally, hate this podcast. Love the concept: a star-studded lineup, all explaining how their failures have both defined and informed their current successes. It's good. It's important.

But I cannot stand Elizabeth Day. I'm so sorry, but I just think she's sanctimonious, arrogant, and annoying.

Only someone with an ego as inflated as mine would attempt to step into Day's shoes (they'd probably be some designer nonsense she bought with the millions she made promoting herself on her podcast), yet here we are. Welcome, ladies and gents, to 'How to Fail' with Chloe Lamb. Pull up a pew.

This may become a series... or it may not. Don't want to overpromise and underdeliver... that would be very unlike me....

1. Gravitational failures

   
   

   One of my resounding failures as an adult is staying upright. Friends have labelled my various trips and falls as 'gravity' incidences. Once tripped forward holding an ice cream and, hands outstretched, coated a woman's denim jacket in mint choc chip.

   
   

   Better still, I once attempted parkour (yes, I may have had a beer) in my first year of uni, and ended up in A&E with a fracture (although I only found this out 3 weeks later via LETTER as they had missed it initially). During said disablement, I was carried downstairs from my room by a man I was involved with at the time. I was very much the damsel in distress and was milking it for max drama (duh, have you met me?).

   At the bottom of the stairs, the gang found a wheelchair. Amazing! I thought. College had obviously found out about my ankle and provided me with a wheelchair! Epic!

   
   

   We get to brunch, and whilst drowning in baked beans, all our phones vibrate. It's the house 8 group chat. One of our housemates has written:

   
   

"Has anyone seen my Granny's wheelchair? It was by the stairs in house 8. Not cool guys"

Chaos ensues and lovely Tomos runs the wheelchair back to said pensioner, with my apologies.

I wish I could say that concludes my clumsy disasters, but we've merely scratched at the surface. Next time I'll share the time I tripped, and impaled my foot on a tent peg at a festival. I really should have an NHS loyalty card at this point. Or some sort of frequent flyer programme. Three admissions within 6 months = £5 voucher for the vending machine in the waiting room? Sounds reasonable.

2. Complete a tricoleur

   
   

   A tricoleur, for those who aren't in the know, is the mission to drink 3 bottles of wine; 1 red, 1 white and 1 rosé, within a roughly 2-3 hour window. In the name of the appreciation of France, and their wonderful produce. On the 4th June 2021, I set out to complete this (although for some of them, this was a daily occurrence - Stembridge, I'm looking at you).

   
   

   Bottle 1? Felt fine, felt good. And yes, I am painfully aware of how embarrassing the fact we documented this was. I know.

   
   

   Bottle 1 checkin!

   
   

   Bottle 2? At 9.23pm I was apparently feeling pretty pleased with myself.

   
   

   

   Bottle 2 checkin!

   
   

   Bottle 3? Who am I kidding, I made it 1 sip into bottle 3 before this happened...

   
   
   
   

   

   Bottle 3 checkin!

   
   

So yes, a failed tricoleur still haunts me.

3. Dancing Queen!

   
   

   I'm so lost on a dancefloor. I'm either so pissed I'm embarrassingly freestyling (in the style of an injured flamingo)... Or I'm slightly more sober, and just end up copying my friends' moves, but obviously in a subtle way... they'll never know! Right?! It all started in ballet when I was 4. Best pal Jessamy and I donned our leotards. She was graceful, light on her feet. "A pleasure to teach", blah blah blah. I, on the other hand, was heavy footed and often ran in the wrong direction. The ballet teacher suggested to my Mother that I was perhaps better suited to a more heavy-duty sport. The rugby at uni makes increasing sense...

   
   

   Onto teenhood: I once copied a boy (oooh, a boy!) doing the worm at a party in Sydney. Jumped down onto the danceloor next to him. A combination of lack of coordination and no upper body strength meant I just... stayed lying down? While he did a beautifully executed worm next to me. I was also trying to snog him that night. Needless to say, no snogs were had.

   
   

   Fast forward to 2019, and Freshers Week arrived. A friend from college suggested we go to the latin and ballroom taster class. Eager to make friends, I enthusiastically agreed.

   It was, and I cannot stress this enough, awful. I lasted 14 minutes of consistent wrong steps and a lot of fluster, after which I swiftly left and got a 12" BBQ chicken pizza from Paddy's (I don't even like BBQ sauce but my trauma was doing the talking). I took it back to my room and cried on the phone to my Mum. Enough said.

   
   

4. Killed a man

   
   

   Well, less, killed a man, and more, failed to bring him back to life.

   Picture this... you've stopped at the local Morrisons en route from Devon to London for some petrol, a Diet Coke, and 5 KitKats. As you're filling up, a bloke walks out, walking a little strangely, carrying a pasty (good man!). He collapses. Hero complex is ignited and you and another woman run over. He's unresponsive with a weak pulse and very shallow breathing. First Aiders run out, but we've all moved a bit sluggishly. As soon as I realised his pulse was non existent I started CPR and kept going until the ambos arrived. Ribs were broken. During his fall he had cut himself so I was also coated in his blood. He was pronounced dead at the scene.

   
   

   Great news is that I got my Diet Coke and 5 KitKats for free. Not the petrol though. Bastards.

   
   

   In all seriousness, I do think about this a lot. Having worked in a hospital and done countless first aid training courses, I regret not starting CPR sooner, or maybe my technique was off etc etc etc. It does feel like a real failure. Did I learn anything from it? Ha, NO, shove that in your face Miss Day. Onwards...

5. Star of the Month

   
   

   I'm working in my first London job in an ad agency. They decide to put me in charge of sorting the 'Star Of The Month' nominees, slides, and... the email which goes out to remind people to get nominating. I rubbed my hands together with glee... it was time to get creative. There was a bit of a divide in the office between smokers and non smokers. So I created this fake text conversation to attach to the email, with one line saying "Let's go for a fag". My boss, who was possibly the nicest person to ever exist, came over to my desk and gently tapped me on the shoulder (at which point I hurriedly paused my Famous Five on Kirrin Island Again'audiobook).

   "Look, I think it's funny. But it isn't really in-keeping with company culture, and smokers may feel outed, whilst non-smokers may feel that an unfair divide is being drawn between colleagues".

   The words "exclusionary", and "borderline offensive" may have also been mentioned.

   
   

   This was also obviously the only reason I never got star of the month. It all makes sense now.

Anyway, I shan't waste any more of your time. Basically, let's talk about failure more. All failures don't have to inform successes, although of course they sometimes do, which is a bonus. Most of the time, it's just giggle fodder.

Ciao for now x

p.s. on this biblical day, remember that Jesus also made mistakes and had failures. He picked a bad friend. And he didn't magic his way off the cross. No one's perfect. Happy Easter.