Beginning is often the hardest part: the rigid and long-established format of Pass Notes requires the writer to begin with Age. If the day’s subject is Nigella Lawson or Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, a number is readily available. If it’s Jar Jar Binks, the answer may be obscure but still obtainable (born in 52 BBY – before the Battle of Yavin). But what if the subject is bees, or office temperatures, or “peak curtains”, or God? Some days you get stuck on the first line.
If the subject was Pass Notes itself, you’d have the same problem: it originated in the short-lived Sunday Correspondent, which ceased operations in 1990. The orphaned idea was then adopted by the Guardian’s newly launched G2 print section in 1992, scrapped after a redesign in 2005, and resurrected in 2009. But if we can’t put down anything for age, we can still supply a number: 5,000 examples, and counting.
From the outset, Pass Notes was a crib sheet for the modern world – as much as you needed to know about a given topic, and no more – but it took a while for the format to evolve into its current structure, with two disembodied voices: the one that asks all the questions, and the one that answers them. For the writer it presents a unique opportunity to unleash one’s inner pedant and outer idiot.
By definition the column is extremely topical, and therefore often of fleeting relevance. Historical examples offer a peek into the forgotten obsessions of the day, things we knew in our hearts would never last: wifi-enabled juicers, six-seven, Grumpy Cat, bedtime stacking. It’s possible that Pass Notes could end up being the only evidence some of these trends ever existed.
At its best Pass Notes is perfectly of the moment, arriving just in time to answer the question everyone is asking – what the hell is this? – while being informative, funny and brief. For the writer, however, the distillation process has side effects: one ends up retaining more information about a given subject (coffee pods, transcranial direct current stimulation, rawdogging) than one can ever use. If you’re at a dinner party and the conversation turns to the Calibri typeface, you do not want to be sitting next to me.
Endings can be just as tricky as beginnings. Traditionally, every Pass Notes finishes with Do Say followed by Don’t Say: an advisable thing to utter on the given subject, and an inadvisable one. The advisable one is easy, but my Don’t Says are often flagged for being vulgar, or offensive, or potentially actionable. My standard defence – “that’s why you’re not supposed to say it!” – cuts no ice. The one that gets printed is almost never my first choice.
Tim Dowling’s 10 most memorable Pass Notes
1. ‘Six-seven’: what does the latest slang mean (and should parents be worried)?
This explainer on the curious six-seven phenomenon became the most-read Pass Notes of all time, which suggests everybody was worried about it on the exact same day, even though the craze was technically already over by the time I wrote about it in October 2025.
Name: Six-seven.
Age: Less than a year old.
Appearance: Everywhere.
What does six-seven signify? You know, just six-seven. Six-sevvuhnn!
Is it a code? No, it’s six-seven!
Is it a cool way to say someone is at sixes and sevens, ie in a state of disorder or confusion? It is definitely not that.
Then what does it mean? It’s just something the young people of today are saying. Or shouting.
You mean it’s fashionable to yell out two consecutive numbers? It’s more than fashionable – it’s a plague. Six-seven has become the bane of school teachers everywhere.
Why? Because it’s maddening. Imagine telling your students to turn to page 67, only for all of them to shout “six-seven!” at you.
No, I mean why are the children doing that? Even they don’t know why.
It must come from somewhere. Yes, but I should preface any explanation by saying: it’s a long story and it doesn’t matter.
I’ll be the judge of that. Fine. The phrase “six-seven”, in its modern sense, appears to originate with the Philadelphia rapper Skrilla’s 2024 track Doot Doot (6 7), in which it’s either a reference to police radio code, or 67th Street, or something else.
I see. But it really went viral when the song was repeatedly used to soundtrack video clips of the NBA basketball star LaMelo Ball, who is, as it happens, 6ft 7in.
OK, I think I get it. Trust me, you don’t. Somewhere along the line the phrase acquired an accompanying hand gesture: two upturned palms alternately rising and falling, like weighing scales.
In that case, perhaps it’s a reference to something being nothing special, ie a six or a seven on a scale from one to 10? Nice try, but no. The phrase has become such a phenomenon in the US that it was the basis for last week’s South Park episode, in which it sparks a moral panic.
And it’s now reached the classrooms of the UK? Apparently it has. Thus ends the story of six-seven.
You were right. That was long, and it didn’t matter. Not in the least. It’s a bit of meme slang that refers only to itself, advertising nothing beyond the average 13-year-old’s capacity for being annoying and a corresponding willingness to flog a dead horse.
What can be done about it? Some teachers have banned it, but others have incorporated six-seven into their teaching.
I suppose it will be over soon enough. Adults are talking about it, so it already is.
Do say: “Open your textbooks to page 55, and then turn over 12 more pages.”
Don’t say: “Skibidi!”
2. Donald Trump’s bid to be president: as ridiculous as his hair
Pass Notes was certainly not alone in failing to take Donald Trump seriously in 2015, but it serves as a reminder of a time when merely describing Donald Trump accurately was sufficient ridicule.
Name: Donald Trump.
Age: Man – 69. Hair – tests inconclusive on material unknown to science.
Appearance: 69-year-old man wearing dead alien animal on his head.
Has he died? Only from the hairline up. The rest of him is too rich to die.
What has he done then? Announced that he is running for US president.
Doesn’t he do this every year? Regardless of whether or not there’s a presidential race? Yes, but this time it’s official. On a stage in the basement of Trump Tower in Manhattan, surrounded by eight American flags, to the soundtrack of Neil Young’s Rockin’ in the Free World, Donald Trump told the world that he is running for president. And Young told the world that Trump did not have permission to use his music.
OK, so what’s Trump promising? To get rid of Obamacare.
That’s a given. What else? To take back America, which Obama has reduced to the level of a third-world country and handed over to the Chinese, whose leaders hopelessly outclass Uncle Sam’s. It’s like “the New England Patriots and Tom Brady [versus] a high-school team,” says Donald.
Ah, Trump truth. Splendid. And he’s going to stop Mexico “sending us all the wrong people”.
Let me guess. Does it involve a wall? Yes! Are you psychic? It involves “a great, great wall on our southern border, and I will make Mexico pay for that wall”.
Anything else? He’s going to cut spending on education, massively. “People are tired of spending more money on education per capita than any other country.”
Yes, that is a national disgrace. And he’s going to be “the greatest jobs president that God ever made” and reduce the real goddamn unemployment rate from 20%.
I thought the US unemployment rate was 5.4%? That’s just the official government figure. Trump believes it to be 18-20%, so that is what he is going to reduce it from.
I see. Anything else before I go and drive myself off a cliff? He has disclosed, in accordance with legislation, that he is worth $8.73bn and will be using his own money to try to buy the presidency.
You mean, run his campaign? Tomato, tomahto.
Do say: “Stephen Colbert – your country needs you.”
Don’t say: “No it doesn’t – satire is dead.”
3. Prince Andrew
In 2003, Pass Notes exposed Prince Andrew as an absolute bounder – for taking a royal jet to a golf tournament. What an innocent age it was.
Name: Prince Andrew.
Age: 43.
Appearance: Second-hand car dealer (BMWs).
Interests: Golf, parties, nubile women, golf, travel, dirty jokes, models, golf.
That’s a lot of golf. When you are as busy as Prince Andrew, golf is a great way of relieving stress.
Prince Andrew, busy??? You forget that he is special representative for British trade and investment.
What’s his handicap? Royal genes.
No, his golf handicap. Seven.
That’s very good. He must get a lot of birdies. Let’s keep his private life out of this.
And albatrosses. Please don’t mention Sarah Ferguson.
Where does he play? The Royal and Ancient Golf Club at St Andrews. He will be captain of the club next year.
Oh, yes, I saw that he had a game there earlier this week. He did indeed: a very pleasant excursion.
Didn’t he take the 25-seater royal jet and make it wait at RAF Leuchars for 11 hours while he enjoyed a round followed by a black-tie dinner? Yes, it was the R&A’s spring meeting and, as prospective captain, he had to be there.
How much did the round cost? Nothing. As captain-to-be, the club pays his green fees.
No, how much did it cost taxpayers? Some estimate as much as £10,000.
That’s more than £500 a hole. It’s a lovely course.
Why didn’t he take a commercial flight? He’d have missed the dinner. Eighteen holes give you a huge appetite.
Not to be confused with: Prince Edward, Prince Michael of Kent, Severiano Ballesteros.
Most likely to say: “Balls.”
Least likely to say: “Let me pay.”
Significant fact that was hard to work into the mock-conversation that is Pass Notes: The Royal and Ancient does not admit female members, no matter how royal or ancient. This is also a disgrace.
4. Fendi’s £750 ‘vulva’ scarf makes wearers look as if they’re being born
You might well have forgotten that in 2018 Fendi unveiled a vulva-shaped shawl that “makes you look like you’re being born”, but it was a big deal at the time.
Name: The Touch of Fur shawl by Fendi.
Age: New in this season’s womenswear collection.
Price: £750.
Appearance: Well … um … That’s the thing.
What’s the thing? The appearance.
What about it? It’s peachy pink, made from silk and wool, trimmed with (ugh) real fox fur … and …
Yes? It looks like a giant vulva.
The external female genital organ? Yup.
I see. And what’s wrong with that? Half the world has a vulva, you know. I do know, yes.
For too long, while penises were faintly comical, the subject of only mild swearwords, the vagina has remained somehow shocking, shameful, unmentionable … I agree.
We should be proud of our bodies. I’m sick and tired of wearing clothes that don’t look like vulvas! OK. Although I do wonder if there might be a middle ground between being ashamed of your vulva and wearing a giant replica of it around your neck.
Why compromise? Because it costs £750, for one thing.
I expect some cheap high-street copies will be along soon. I’m not sure they will. It makes you look like you’re being born.
That’s perfectly natural, too. Indeed, but perhaps not very elegant. It seems that the shawl was first shared on Twitter on Friday evening. Judging from the reaction, most people were too busy laughing to rush out and buy one.
They all laughed at Einstein, remember. I think they were mostly quite impressed with Einstein.
Can you choose different colours to match your skin tone, like you can with emoji? Not really. Besides pink, there is just bright blue and bright red.
That’s a wasted opportunity. You’re missing the point. Fendi is a classy Italian fashion house led by Karl Lagerfeld. I don’t think it meant this shawl to look like a vulva at all.
Oh. I thought it was a fashion thing. You know, drape yourself in a vulva, prance about looking cross. Actually, it looks more like a mistake thing. If you go on Fendi’s website, the page with the pink Touch of Fur shawl appears to have been removed, while the blue and red ones still remain.
I suppose a blue or a red one would do, in an emergency. Or there’s a pink one without the fur?
I refuse to submit my shawl to that kind of treatment! Suit yourself.
Do say: “Half my clutch bags already look like vulvas, to be fair.”
Don’t say: “Listen, I’ve got a great idea for a furry pink tie …”
5. Ham, mozzarella and … orange?! Australia invents a new topping to enrage the pizza purists
Over the decades Pass Notes has logged plenty of evidence suggesting the End Times are upon us, including last year’s news that someone somewhere (Australia) was putting oranges on pizza.
Name: Orange pizza.
Age: First mentions come in 314BC and AD997 respectively. The combination, however, is a product of our own dark age.
Appearance: There’s no getting round this – it’s an orange pizza.
All pizzas are sort of orange, aren’t they? By which I mean, a pizza with oranges on it.
What? Who on God’s green Earth would do such a thing? Australians.
Ah, I see. Specifically Bubba Pizza, a chain restaurant with 15 outlets in Victoria.
And it is purposely putting oranges on pizza? It is putting smoked ham, fresh orange chunks and mozzarella on pizza. And it’s not just doing it, it’s selling it.
Let me guess: sparking online outrage? Correct. The pizzas have been around for a few months, but now it has blown up, with one commenter on Reddit posting: “Some people just want to watch the world burn.”
Why has Bubba Pizza done this? The chain’s managing director described it as “a way to bring people together over something unexpected”.
I imagine it will upset the pizza purists. Pineapple on pizza upsets purists; oranges on pizza upsets people who like pineapple on pizza.
Is Bubba Pizza worried about what the Italians will think? Evidently not: when it launched the ham and orange pizza, it offered free samples to anyone who produced an Italian passport.
Yet another sign that the old international order is crumbling. You may be right. An earlier incidence of this abomination occurred in 2023, when a pizza topped with chicken, jalapeños and oranges was created in Hungary for the country’s prime minister, Viktor Orbán.
Like I needed another reason to dislike that guy. Is this the worst thing that’s ever happened to a pizza? No. It’s possibly not even the worst thing to happen to a pizza in Australia, where you can order a full breakfast pizza in Melbourne, a chicken tikka masala pizza in Sydney or a pumpkin and hummus pizza in Brisbane.
But outside Australia and Hungary, everything is still OK, right? Nothing is still OK and it hasn’t been for a long time. In Sweden, they put bananas on pizza.
Really? I watch lots of Scandi dramas and this never comes up. They know the idea would be impossible to export. In China, pizza topped with the notoriously smelly durian fruit is the most popular order at Pizza Hut, accounting for one in every four pizzas sold by the chain.
Ham and orange pizza is starting to seem a bit tame by comparison. This is how they suck you in.
In fact, I’m starting to develop a hankering for one. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.
Do say: “Mozzarella, tomato, basil – basta!”
Don’t say: “The blueberries work surprisingly well, but the vanilla ice-cream melted in the oven.”
6. Is Sony’s ‘smart wig’ even more absurd than Google Glass?
The column has a patchy track record when it comes to predicting the future. Sadly, the smart wig we wrote about in 2013 did not endure – or ever, in any real sense, exist.
Name: Smart wig.
Age: In development.
Appearance: Like hair. But smarter.
This can’t be what it sounds like. Oh, but it can and it is.
Please tell me it’s just a smart-looking wig. I can’t and won’t.
Fine. It’s a computer in a toupee, isn’t it? That’s the idea.
Whose idea, exactly, and how are they still alive? Engineers at Sony. And they’re alive and thriving because enough of their ridiculous ideas turn into hugely successful products.
But … but … a wig? A smart wig? So they hope. The electronics giant has applied to patent a “wearable computing device” wired into a hairpiece. The application states the smart wig could be made from “horse hair, human hair, wool, feathers, yak hair, buffalo hair or any kind of synthetic material”.
Wool? Feathers? Human hair? Are they drunk? To be fair, the purpose of a patent is to cover all possible bases. It doesn’t mean the finished product has to come in a choice of yak or buffalo.
But why would anyone want a feathery PC on their head? Well, for one thing, because it might give them super powers.
Are you drunk now as well? No, I’ve just been browsing the patent’s extensive list of possible smart wig functions.
Such as? Bat-vision. Apparently it could deploy “ultrasound waves” to detect nearby objects and help navigate through darkness.
Pssh. And? Wig-sensing. It could use vibration or small electric shocks to provide “tactile feedback” to the wearer. Plus it could monitor environmental conditions and users’ vital signs.
Oh. Hmm. Any more? Telepathy, for one. Or “wig-to-wig communication” via the tactile feedback mechanisms. Also telekinesis, using facial expressions or brain activity to control, for example, a computer presentation.
That sounds brilliant. Anything else? Self-awareness. It could be fitted with an electronic compass and camera to let the user know “whether the wig is correctly mounted on the head or not”.
I must have it. You’ll have to wait a while.
I must have it at once! Keep your hair on.
Do say: “At the end of the day, it’s still a wig.”
Don’t say: “What next, mind-reading merkins?”
7. Are fitness trackers bad for your health?
On the other hand, this 2015 entry suggests we were pretty confident the so-called “fitness tracker” gadget would never catch on.
Name: Fitness gadget.
Age: About a decade.
Appearance: A neat little stress headache that wraps around your wrist.
Can we have this discussion a bit later? I’m only halfway to reaching my 10,000 steps. This is exactly the problem. When did you start using fitness apps?
About a year ago, I think. And how do you feel?
Great! I mean, I’m constantly exhausted, and I can’t remember the last time I ate anything that wasn’t predominately kale-based. But you’re thinner and happier, right?
Well, happier is a strong word. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to march furiously up and down my office for 10 solid minutes. See? This is what I’m talking about. It has been suggested that wearing a fitness device is little more than a recipe for gigantic anxiety.
Anxiety? But my fitness app tells me everything. I know how inert I am, I know how badly I sleep, I know precisely the type of nutrients that are missing from my diet. And, according to the latest issue of the BMJ, that’s where you’re going wrong.
How so? In the article, Scottish GP Des Spence writes: “The truth is that these apps and devices are untested and unscientific, and they will open the door of uncertainty. Make no mistake: diagnostic uncertainty ignites extreme anxiety in people.”
So in other words … That’s right, your obsession with monitoring every single aspect of your health 24 hours a day is probably turning you into a frantic hypochondriac.
Is this like the time I Googled symptoms of my toothache and ended up diagnosing myself with skull cancer? More or less, except the only treatment on offer is walking around a lot and mainlining kale like some sort of sweaty rabbit.
What should I do? You could always throw your wearable device away.
But it cost so much money. Then invent an app that arbitrarily flashes up phrases like “Everything’s OK” and “Go for a walk, but only if you feel like it” and “A mouthful of ice-cream isn’t going to kill you” throughout the day. You will probably make a fortune.
Do say: “Stop being such a slave to your possessions.”
Don’t say: “Feature idea: Worry Your Way Into a Bikini Body.”
8. The Founders, the Plurals, iGen or ReGen – what should we call the post-millennials?
In 2015 we got the name of a burgeoning gen Z spectacularly wrong – Pass Notes picked the Founders – but to its credit gen Z was not among the listed options.
Name: The Founders.
Age: 15, tops.
Appearance: Pragmatic, independent, digitally native.
Hold up, that’s not a description. It’s just a meaningless list of marketing buzzwords. Well, you would say that. You’re a millennial. You ruin everything.
Can we start again? We seem to have got off on the wrong foot. Fine. The Founders is the name that has been given to the new post-millennial generation, referring to anyone born after December 2000.
Why are they so pragmatic and independent? Because each generation rebels against the previous one, and millennials are famously needy and entitled.
How dare you say that! I’m totally going to no-platform you. See? According to the president of MTV, who came up with the term, the Founders are identified by “this self-awareness that systems have been broken. But they can’t be the generation that says we’ll break it even more.”
That’s why they’re called the Founders? Yes, because it will be their job to repair a world that millennials have mucked up beyond repair.
What’s the cause of this intergenerational behavioural shift? Well, one theory is that the Founders are the first generation to be parented by generation X (who grew up with realistic expectations and ended up slightly disenfranchised), as opposed to millennials (who were raised by soppy-faced baby boomer optimists and ended up horrifically risk-averse and entitled). Frankly, I like the sound of the Founders a lot more.
It’s a terrible name, though. You should have heard some of the alternatives. According to MTV, other potential names included the Plurals, the Navigators, the Regenerators, iGen, ReGen and the Homeland Generation.
That sounds like the worst Battle of the Bands lineup in history. Exactly. Founders is easily the best of a bad bunch.
We should write a letter of thanks to the faceless team of corporate bureaucrats who were paid to arbitrarily name this upcoming generation of superheroes, then. Seriously, you millennials. You’re the absolute worst.
Do say: “Thank goodness MTV has discovered the name of this emerging generation.”
Don’t say: “It’s just a shame that none of them will ever know what MTV is.”
9. Why ‘ghosting’ haunts modern relationships
But we were spot on with Ghosting in 2016, although in this day and age, disappearing forever seems like one of the more polite ways to end a relationship.
Name: Ghosting.
Age: The word – new-ish, the concept – ageless.
Appearance: Immaterial. Geddit?
Ah, wait, I know this one! Is it clean eating until you look like a ghost? Or die of boredom and actually become a ghost? No. It’s when you’re going out with someone and then you just … don’t, any more. You stop returning calls, texts, emails and basically unilaterally absent yourself from the relationship. Which is now no relationship. Because you’re not there. Like a ghost. A cruel, cowardly, morally repugnant ghost.
That’s scarier than any ghoulish phantom. I know. And, apparently, nearly 80% of millennials have experienced it.
Yikes! 80%? What is WRONG with the world? Is nobody good any more? Is nobody kind? Is nobody upstanding, compassionate, less than wholly, irredeemably selfish? No. Swipe left.
It must indeed be a Tinder-y, Snapchatty modern phenomenon. I mean, in this digital age, aren’t we all just pixellated shadows of ourselves anyway? Why not ghost when you have no real connection? When we are all just phantasmagoria in the cloud? It’s a brutal, disassociated world out there all right. Though you can also “ghost” more positively.
How so? It also refers to leaving a party without saying goodbye.
I’ve been doing that for years. No one has noticed yet. I should probably make more of an effort at parties. It’s also known as the Irish goodbye and the French exit.
I am neither Gaelic nor Gallic. I just can’t be arsed. Some people do it because it saves the host being interrupted a million times by people bidding farewell. The party can keep running smoothly.
That’s nice. I do it because I suddenly become so overwhelmed by the fact that I’m out, with people infinitely more capable of having fun than I, and music, and talking, and noise and people that I have to go before I kill. You’re a spectre at the feast before you ghost. Respect.
Do say: “Thank you for this gift of sexual congress. I do not wish to take our relationship further, but I wish you well in all your future endeavours.”
Don’t say: “…”
10. Blue latte: the vegan coffee that smells of seaweed and contains no caffeine
Looking back, the quaintest thing about the brief rise in 2016 of the blue latte – which contained no milk, or coffee – was our outrage at the idea that anyone would pay £5 for a hot beverage.
Name: Blue latte.
Age: Less than a week old.
Appearance: Blue.
What on earth goes into a latte to make it blue? Ginger, lemon, coconut milk, agave and blue algae powder.
That sounds a bit experimental. It’s very popular. The blue latte was only introduced at Melbourne’s vegan Matcha Mylkbar last Saturday, and they’ve already sold more than 100 of them, at A$8 (£4.60) each.
Nearly a fiver for a coffee? Well, no, not exactly. Coffee is not among the listed ingredients of the blue latte.
What? How can you charge nearly a fiver for a latte with no actual coffee in it? It’s down to the blue algae, which costs as much as $3 a gram and is said to have powerful antioxidant properties. Customers can’t get enough of it.
For that money, it must taste fantastic. “It has a strong seaweed-type smell,” says someone who has tried it. According to staff at Matcha Mylkbar, it’s reminiscent of sour milk, with a tart aftertaste.
A hugely expensive blue coffee that tastes terrible and contains no caffeine. Why do people keep coming back? Because the blue latte is, in beverage terms, eminently Instagram-able.
What does that even mean? It means that many customers appear to be ordering the blue latte so they can post pictures of it on Instagram.
As in: “Check out this disgusting blue drink they sell in Australia”? Australia has long been a trailblazer when it comes to coffee culture. The country isn’t in thrall to big chains such as Starbucks, and independent craft coffee brewers have introduced a lot of innovation.
They must be among the first to remove coffee from the equation. The flat white, for example, is an Australian invention.
And they must be at the absolute forefront when it comes to charging. If you’re budget-conscious, Matcha Mylkbar also do a beetroot latte for just $5.
No thank you. They also have a mushroom latte for $7, if your wallet will stretch to it.
Are you sure they aren’t just selling soup by the glass? Not entirely, no.
Do say: “Large blue please, mate – not too much ginger, extra algae and four sugars.”
Don’t say: “It’s that colour because we add a touch of antifreeze, which has powerful anti-freezing properties.”
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