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Grief through art and privilege

Recently, I find myself constantly listening to Cat Burns’ (2025) new album ‘How to be Human’. An incredibly catchy, moving and soulful album. Lyrically, it navigates two types of grief; the death of a loved one (father and grandfather) and the end of a relationship. The lyrics are poignant and the melodies peaceful yet emotional. For somebody who has had this album hit too close too home, it is very much a ‘box of tissues at the ready’ type of album with some ‘get up and dance’ tracks included too.

Engaging with art (music, literature, print) which embodies and navigates grief can assist some in the healing process. Different people frame different emotions which hit in a whole new way. Music, art, literature are a necessity for human kind: but they are also a privilege. A privilege for those who can create, access and afford. Space, money, creativity are needed to create but also arguably to consume art as well. Is this fair given the unfortunate reality that we all will/have been bed fellows with grief, and these resources could help people process/address/feel?

This got me thinking about the broader collective which is grief: grieving for a previous version of yourself, grieving people, grieving a home, grieving something you want but cannot have, the ending of a relationship, loss of income. When I think about it, we grieve all sorts, yet these types of grief are not ‘mainstream’, or at least I hadn’t perceived them as such. And as I thought about grief, it made me think of those within the Secure Estate (children and adults), grieving the loss of loved ones, of relationships, of possibilities and of their liberties. Are they afforded the space to grieve? They are viewed as criminally responsible, and therefore deserving of punishment, and part of this punishment is loss but how do they process this? Do they view this loss of liberty in terms of grief? Are they afforded this privilege? I highly doubt it, and I wonder if this framing of grief and loss is something which needs deeper consideration when looking at rehabilitation. How can you rebuild and move forward if you haven’t processed, or at least begun to process, the loss. The loss of who you were, the loss of time, the loss of relationships, skills, knowledge etc.

In my humble opinion the album is beautiful and has made me deal with a new wave of feelings: but I think this is a good thing. As Burns (2025) identifies in ‘All this love’: it’s just part of the process. A process, given my positionality, I am privileged to be navigating with music, literature, family and friends. A privilege not afforded to all, or for all forms of grief. I think this should change. Grief can be all consuming, even on days when you think you’re on your feet, suddenly the rug is pulled from beneath you. And the tools you have, the space to be and to feel, are essential. So why then do we only afford them to some?

Bibliography:

Burns, C. (2025) ‘How to Be Human’. Available at Amazon Music (Accessed 31st October 2025)

Rosen, M. (2004) Sad Book. Somerville, MA: Candlewick Press

Savage, M. (2025) ‘Cat Burns’ new album shows a softer side to the Traitors star’, BBC, 31st October. Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cx2pxz14ypro (Accessed 11th November 2025)

The coffee shop that’s worth more than its profit margin

Every morning follows the same rhythm. Finish my gym session, towel off, and head straight to the M&S café for my coffee. It’s not just about the caffeine – though God knows I need it. It’s about the ladies behind the counter who greet me with genuine warmth, who remember my order, who take pride in their work. In a world that often feels rushed and impersonal, their kindness has become my daily reset button.

But this isn’t really a story about my coffee ritual. It’s about what I’ve witnessed in that café—something far more important than any morning black americano.

The tables are always dotted with elderly faces. At first, I didn’t think much of it. But over time, as I’ve chatted with them, “I come here every Tuesday and Thursday,” one gentleman told me in the queue, staring at his menu. “Meet up with whoever’s about. Talk football, moan about the weather.” He smiled. “Beats sitting at home staring at the four walls, doesn’t it?” It’s beautiful, really. Watching strangers become friends over scones, toasties and crosswords. Seeing lonely people find their people, even if just for an hour.

The gentle hum of conversation about politics, memories, grandchildren, postwar Britain, the price of everything these days. This is what community looks like – unscripted, unglamorous, essential. I’ve become friends with some of them myself. They’ve told me about children who live too far away, partners they’ve lost, days that feel too long and too empty. For many, this café visit is their main activity. Their reason to get dressed. Their connection to the outside world.

A couple of days ago, I was at the gym when I overheard a conversation that stopped me mid-rep. They’re closing the café. The M&S café. Our café. I asked one of the staff members – one of those lovely ladies who makes this place what it is. She confirmed it quietly, almost apologetically, but couldn’t (or wouldn’t) share the details. The rumour mill says it’s about profit margins. The official line from M&S is that they’re repurposing spaces to create room for more popular products. More popular products!. And I felt something crack inside me.

If this is truly about profits, then we need to have a serious conversation about what we value as a society. Yes, businesses need to be viable. Yes, companies have shareholders and bottom lines and quarterly targets. I understand economics, I used to work in the financial services – a Bank to be precise, so I understand numbers. But when did we collectively decide that every single square foot of commercial space must justify its existence purely through revenue? This café might not be their most profitable location. But what’s the cost of closing it? Where exactly do we expect these elderly people to go?

“Just go to another café,” someone might say. But you’re missing the point entirely. This isn’t about coffee. It’s about familiarity. It’s about the staff who know your name. It’s about the community that’s been built, brick by brick, conversation by conversation, over months and years. You can’t just transplant that somewhere else. Community doesn’t work like that.

My elderly friends at the café (many of them in their 80s) represent a growing crisis we’d rather not acknowledge. Let me give you some numbers. According to a recent report on Age and loneliness in the UK, nearly 940,000 older people in the UK are often lonely – that’s one in fourteen people over 65 (Age UK 2024). And here’s the truly heartbreaking bit: 270,000 older people go an entire week without speaking to a single friend or family member.

Do you know how crazy that sounds? Not speaking to a single friend or family member!! A whole week!!  

And loneliness doesn’t just make people sad—it kills. It increases the risk of depression, heart disease, stroke, dementia etc. This isn’t just about comfort or quality of life. This is a public health crisis. And yet, we’re closing the very spaces where people find connection. Where will they go? Costa? Starbucks? Even if they could afford the higher prices, those chains don’t foster the same sense of belonging. They’re designed for laptop workers and quick takeaways, not for lingering conversation and community building.

Councils cut funding for community centers – libraries operate on skeleton hours, now commercial spaces that accidentally became social lifelines are vanishing too. 

I’m not naive. I know M&S isn’t a charity. I’m also aware they do good work by partnering with food banks and donating surplus food to people who need it. They clearly have a social conscience. But they brand themselves on quality, trust, and British values. Well, here’s a British value: looking after our elderly. Not abandoning them.

M&S, you have an opportunity here. An opportunity to position yourselves as a company that doesn’t just talk about community values but actually lives them. You could be the retailer that says, “We’re keeping our cafés open because we recognise they’re tackling one of the biggest health crises facing our aging population.” Imagine the goodwill. Imagine the respect. Imagine being the company that genuinely helps combat loneliness alongside all the good work you’re already doing – that’s how you truly stand tall amongst your peers.

There’s such thing as enough profit. There’s such a thing as being a responsible corporate citizen. There’s such a thing as recognising that some things – like providing a warm, safe space for lonely pensioners to find friendship – might be worth preserving even if it means slightly less room for those “more popular products.”

Our very own café will probably close. The space will be repurposed – maybe more retail shelving, maybe nothing at all. The decision-makers will never meet the people affected. They’ll never know about the Tuesday regular who’ll now have nowhere to go, or the widow who found a reason to leave the house, or the gentleman who finally made friends after his kids relocated to another country. And my morning ritual? I’ll find another coffee shop. I’ll survive.

But what about the people for whom this was so much more than coffee? What about the 270,000 older people who might go another week without speaking to anyone? What about your chance to be part of the solution instead of part of the problem?#

This is what the world is turning into: a place where community is a nice-to-have but never a must-have. Have we forgotten that sometimes the most valuable things can’t be measured on a balance sheet. We can do better than this.

What do you think? Are there spaces in your community facing similar threats? I’d genuinely love to hear your thoughts.

Reference list

Age UK (2024) Age UK’s new report shows ‘you are not alone in feeling lonely’. Available at: https://www.ageuk.org.uk/latest-press/articles/age-uks-new-report-shows-you-are-not-alone-in-feeling-lonely/ (Accessed: 27 October 2025)