Send back Your old passports
I’m not proud of all my life lessons, but I will loudly volunteer the ones learned through mild administrative chaos and public embarrassment.
A public service announcement first: if your child — or you, God help you — has an old passport lying around, don’t keep it. When passports expire the sensible thing to do is send them back to be destroyed. Apparently this was something my mum didn’t file under “fun family tasks,” and decades later I found out why the Passport Office gets twitchy: if you don’t return the expired book, it can look like you still have a live passport in circulation. Long story short, I spent a chunk of time proving I wasn’t currently jet-setting under a different name. Moral: send it back, or suffer the ensuing minor bureaucratic existential crisis.
Second bit: I had a moment the other day that reduced my moral compass to 50% battery. I was walking to work and saw a blind man approaching with his cane. There was a van parked smack in the middle of a pedestrian zone. My internal hero wanted to run over and warn him. My internal coward said “don’t shout, don’t startle, don’t create a scene.” I tried to judge whether to intervene from a polite distance. He switched hands with his cane for reasons only a blind man and the universe will ever know — and walked directly into the back of the van. I felt terrible. Someone else helped. I felt double terrible because I knew I could have done better but let social anxiety win. If the lesson here is anything, it’s: do the thing that helps other people and not just the thing that keeps you comfortable telling yourself you would have helped.
The fun piece of this episode was a dive into the subreddit r/LowStakesConspiracies, which is exactly what it sounds like: conspiracy theories for people who don’t want to commit to a full tinfoil hat. I read out some highlights, and yes, they were glorious.
Standouts included:
“The Royal Family still eat swans” — apparently the monarchy is running a medieval takeaway service. I remain skeptical; also hungry for proof.
“Formula One is scripted like WWE” — yes, because nothing says ‘authentic sport’ like dramatic cutaways and carefully timed tire blowouts. (Also probably the best explanation for half of my childhood confusion watching Damon Hill.)
“The letter C exists only because of the alphabet song” — I am with this one. C flips between “s” and “k” like it’s in a mid-life phonetic crisis. My daughter and I are currently in a war about it.
“Instant gravy is deliberately underwhelming to hide salt content” — plausible, and also an insult to anyone who’s ever tried to make gravy that’s actually good.
“Roadworks are just storage for cones” — could be true. I’ve seen some vans.
There’s something oddly wholesome about conspiracy theories that ask only for chuckles rather than the end of civilisation. These low-stakes mysteries restore faith in humanity’s ability to spin wild, petty explanations for the mundane. They’re the gossip of the internet age — harmless, absurd, and occasionally insightful if you squint.
Before I go, a reminder: Lore & Disorder episode two is out early for subscribers — and I’m thinking about a small revamp of the subscription perks. Small, because “procrastinate massively and then panic” is more my rhythm than the “consistent content calendar” of corporate podcasters. If you want early access and the occasional member-only treat, head to www.andonemorething.net and look at the That’s a Free Bee Plus options.
Finally, your homework: send me your favourite ridiculous conspiracy theory. Bonus points if it involves gravy, Scottish soft drinks, or the letter C.