ON AN ESPECIALLY grim day around here, there will always be someone who mutters well you don’t live in Britain for the weather. And while that may be true, it’s definitely cosy when you’re sitting in someone’s home for tea where it’s bright and warm.

Old age is not exactly a time of life that most of us welcome, although globally speaking it is a privilege to reach it. In Western societies, the shocked realisation that we are growing old often fills us with alarm and even terror. As Simone de Beauvoir writes in her magisterial study of the topic, La vieillesse (1970) – translated in the UK as Old Age, and in the US as The Coming of Age (1972) – old age arouses a visceral aversion, often a ‘biological repugnance’. Many attempt to push it as far away as possible, denying that it will ever happen, even though we know it already dwells within us.

When I was 21, the cool thing to be was famous on Instagram. Now the cooler thing to be is a mystery. Anonymity is in. The youngest adult generation and the most online generation is frustrated with being surveilled and embarrassed by attention-seeking behaviors. This has instigated a retreat into smaller internet spaces and secret-sharing apps, as well as a mini-renaissance for Tumblr, where users rarely use their full names.

BY PURE COINCIDENCE, I recently watched both It’s Complicated, the 2009 film with Meryl Streep, Steve Martin, and Alec Baldwin; and Father of the Bride, the 1991 film with Steve Martin and Diane Keaton. Now everyone knows that when you watch Nancy Meyers films, the interiors nearly steal every scene (remember the charming cottage in The Holiday?), so when I came across the writer-director-producer’s redecorated Los Angeles home, of course I had to have a peek, especially since she worked with LA-based interior designer Mark D. Sikes, whose work has been featured here many times.

OUR COUNTRYSIDE village has these charming events and one of them, which happens every year, is a Midsummer’s Evening and this year, it was held last Thursday, one day after the Summer Solstice. There were food trucks and folk dancers and face-painting. All the shops were opened late and there was live music (a cover band act).

Everyone is “dissociating.” Over the past few years, it’s become an open-source cultural term, ripe for applying (or misapplying) to all kinds of circumstances where people feel the need to turn off and tune out. One woman I know is currently dissociating via a series of increasingly eccentric hobbies—bead necklaces, candle making, metal-detecting. She’s hardly alone.