Who among us hasn’t been “humbled” by failing at “basic life things” like... well, driving within the speed limit? I know, I know. It’s irresponsible and risky and negligent, and can literally cost lives. The actor Emma Watson has just been banned from driving on account of it, but don’t worry too much, for she is truly “humbled”.
The Harry Potter star’s mega-humbling, in fact, comes after she was caught driving at 38mph in a 30mph zone in Oxford, where she’s a university student. She also had to shell out £1,044 for a fine. Watson already had nine points on her licence – so it was bye bye, blue Audi.
And in talking about the penalty, she has now said (and I’m only teasing, as there but for the grace of God go all of us who are late for work, etc) that the whole experience has been “humbling”, and that it prompted the realisation that she doesn’t seem “able to do some pretty basic life things”. Amen to that, sister.
Watson told the On Purpose podcast host Jay Shetty about what happened when news of the ban broke: “I was getting phone calls, like, it’s on the BBC; it’s on international, worldwide news. I was like, ‘My shame is everywhere.’”
And she appeared to blame the fact that she grew up on film sets, while playing Hermione Granger in the JK Rowling franchise, for (and at this bit, you might need to squint) not understanding the meaning of a giant sign with a 30 in it, right there in the centre, at the side of the road, because: “When you work on films, I don’t know if people realise this, but they literally will not insure you to drive yourself to work. I’ve asked so many times. You have to be driven: it’s not a choice.”
I’ll be frank: you lost me there, Emma – you had the dressing room, and then you lost it by being A-list – but let’s be generous, because it is hard, sometimes, being a grown-up and doing “basic life things”. It is. And I think we can all relate to Emma’s plight. I can, particularly, as I have ADHD – just like Watson.
And it really, genuinely is tricky to do simple things, sometimes, like opening bills (never do it, can’t stand them), completing a simple task without getting distracted (just opened the door to put the bins out? Why don’t I go upstairs and dye my hair first?) and being on time (five minutes before an appointment is the perfect moment to suddenly decide to empty the cellar).
And when Watson says she seems “unable to remember” her keys, well, I get it. I really do. I’ll confess – I was once extremely humbled by the most basic of life things: getting dressed. In the early days after giving birth, in a fog of sleep deprivation and “Oh my God, I’ve created another human and have no idea what to do with it”, I left the house without any trousers on.
I was rushing for a GP appointment (and late as usual) and I slammed the door and half-ran, half-skipped across the local park, only to come to a shocking and paralysing halt when I suddenly realised (thanks to the waft of cold air) that I didn’t have anything on below the waist – only a pair of tights, paired fetchingly with a denim jacket. I wasn’t just humbled, I was humiliated.
I was also pretty damn humbled on a completely different occasion when in those same, early days of newborn, breastfeeding fog, I got to the waiting room of the same GP surgery, pulled off my jumper, and realised that I hadn’t put my boob away. It was just hanging there, flapping out of my maternity bra, completely free, as if it were waving hello to the entire (packed) room full of patients.
Similarly humbled was I, right after lockdown, when I went to the garage – for I am diligent, I am a grown-up, I know that cars need servicing; they need all sorts of things, like oil, and brake fluid, and those massive plastic bottles of windscreen washer, and those dangly things that make the inside smell like pine – and realised I had forgotten to get an MOT. For months. Just completely forgotten, because I am (to misquote a meme and embarrass my Gen Alpha children) “just a baby”.
And it was only thanks to the fact that my car was marked “SORN” and parked “off road” on a driveway at the time – and I hadn’t driven it for months (because lockdown) – that I wasn’t guilty of an actual criminal offence.
Still, I felt humbled – like the way I feel every single night when I walk into the kitchen and see a teetering mountain of dirty plates balanced precariously like an art project; a Tracey Emin-style vision of the leaning tower of Pisa, except it’s the pizza you and the kids ate two days ago. And I’ve forgotten to put the dishwasher on, again.
I’m humbled when I spend all day at work and dream about getting home, having a bath and crawling into bed, except I forgot that in a whirlwind of industry this very morning – this very morning that now feels like it was a special experiment in self-sabotage, as though “past Victoria” really set out to screw “future Victoria” where it hurts – I stripped the bed of covers and didn’t put them back on again. And now it’s late, and I can’t be bothered to change the bed – I am, in fact, physically unable to do it; I am out of energy; unwell – and we all know I’m going to end up sleeping on the bare mattress and duvet anyway.
Humbled, you see – as humbled as the moment I realised I’d forgotten to buy milk and had to choke down an entire bowl of dry Cheerios for breakfast. And that was this morning. Five minutes ago.
Christ, we’re all humbled, all of the time – we get it, Emma Watson. We really do. We just don’t have a dazzling film career to blame, unfortunately. The rest of us are just a bit crap.
