Price has analysed the three elements that define this kind of pure, active fun (which she calls True Fun, as opposed to Fake Fun – the passive enjoyment of watching box sets, or scrolling through Instagram) as “playfulness, connectedness and flow”. Or to put it another way, doing non-goal-based stuff just because you want to, and getting so lost in it, you don’t notice time passing. Which perfectly defines all the activities that most brightened my lockdown days. Price believes that we need True Fun to be an integral part of our lives, not just the occasional bonus, and that we need to go out and make it happen on a regular basis.
Although lots of activities that people do for fun – from wild swimming to rollerstaking – have got physical benefits too, that is often a side-effect rather than the primary motivation. Sociologist Dr Paul O’Connor, of Exeter University, would agree. He has spent time studying middle-aged skateboarders, a cohort to which he belongs.
“For those I spoke to,” he says, “skateboarding was more than about physical health. For some it was social connections, getting to skate with their kids and make new friends their own age. For others it was freedom and catharsis, getting to be completely themselves, creative and independent.
“As an individual activity [skateboarding] is remarkably good at plugging people into a community. You skate on your own, but you also skate with others. It gives people a feeling of informal sociability that has been distinctly disrupted by social media and other forms of modern living.”
The real-life, real-time connecting – as opposed to the digital kind – he describes is one of Price’s key metrics of fun. And connectedness is particularly important because loneliness has been shown to have such a powerful negative impact on our physical as well as our mental health. It’s thought to be an even bigger morbidity risk factor than physical inactivity and obesity. (Which is why Theresa May appointed Baroness Barran as Loneliness Minister.) On top of alleviating isolation, participating in play has been shown by many studies to enhance levels of happiness and satisfaction in adults. Laughing – which takes play that can be quite serious (ie bridge), into the fun area – specifically decreases levels of cortisol, which stress raises to damaging levels in our systems.
Other recent research has shown that play is particularly important in later life. Drew Altschul, a psychologist at the University of Edinburgh, has said: “People who played more games at age 70 had a less steep decline overall in their thinking skills. We also looked at reading and writing or playing music, but they didn’t have the same effect, it was only the games.”
And it seems that the benefit doesn’t come so much from the much-discussed brain exercise of intellectually challenging games, as from the fun aspect. Even good old bingo has been shown to have great therapeutic benefits, as described by Dr Carrie Ryan, from University College London: “People with dementia can play and even win bingo alongside residents without [the condition] and seeing their reaction to that was really profound.
“Playing bingo was the one time I would see a lot of people who were often hunched over in their wheelchairs enliven, straighten up their backs, laugh and experience smiles and joy in a way they just didn’t do at other times.”
So, if it’s so good for us, why do most of us stop actively seeking fun when we reach adulthood? Why do we feel so compelled to put away childish things?
American work/life balance expert Joe Robinson, author of Don’t Miss Your Life, believes that we are caught up in a system that “measures worth by work output and job status, rather than by your intrinsic worth as a person”.
Like Price, he believes that on top of our over-concentration on the value of work, we have – without realising it – plugged the gap where fun should be with the every-ready allure of scrolling culture. All delivered via platforms deliberately constructed to addict us with perfectly-timed dopamine hits.
“Too many of us literally don’t know how to have fun,” says Robinson, “so we end up filling our free time with passive entertainments that, ultimately, aren’t very satisfying.”
So what can we do about this fun famine? Both Robinson and Price advise you to be pro-active, scheduling activities that are likely to prompt it, because – annoyingly – you can’t make fun happen to order, but you can create situations where it’s more likely to erupt.
The first stage in this is identifying what’s fun for you. It’s a very individual thing and a good tip is to make a list of memories of times you’ve had real quality fun, from any stage of your life, then analyse the common threads, so you can seek and prompt similar scenarios. Also consider what elements make activities you otherwise enjoy less fun.
Fun is very personal in this way. I love collaborative ball games, for example, such as paddleball, or ping pong, where the idea is not to score points, but to keep the volley going as long as possible. But the minute competitive scoring is involved, I retreat – it reminds me of school sports, which I hated. This fits with one of Price’s defining characteristics of True Fun activities – they don’t rely on an outcome.
Certainly, it’s the playing of Pictionary, Twister or charades that’s the thing, not the winning – and that also fits what is another sure route to True Fun for me: dancing. It doesn’t matter what kind, as long as there’s music and a beat – and no element of judgement – I’ll be wild with joy by the end.
This is exactly what prompted Lynne Page, a Tony- and Olivier-award nominated choreographer and movement director, who has worked with Renée Zellweger, Stormzy, Lady Gaga, Kanye West and many others, to develop a new session – “class” is the wrong word – of guided dancing, not for technical advancement, not for fitness, just for fun.
“It started in the summer of 2020,” she says, “when we were only allowed to gather outside. I did a socially-distanced silent disco in a park for a friend’s birthday party and it was brilliant. Everyone loved it.
“It’s gone on organically from there, with sessions in church halls, parks and yoga centres. I call it Lynnie’s Shimmy.
“People love it because from a certain age there is nowhere for us to dance. We have to wait for a wedding, or the best we get is a kitchen disco, so when I couldn’t work in lockdown I thought I would start doing this as a way to see friends and have fun – a little pocket of joy – and it’s just caught on.”
Having had the benefit of some of Lynnie’s Shimmy myself (the silent disco was absolute full-throttle fun after the months of lock-down misery), Lynne has come to be one of my “Fun Magnets”.
This is Price’s term for those brilliant people you always seem to have a laugh with, whom she urges us to identify among our friends. Corral your Fun Magnets into your own Fun Squad – something resembling a gang of eight-year-olds let loose in a field – and you will seriously up your “fante” (fun ante).
And we do need to make this effort in order to get the health and life benefits fun brings – and to help us fully shrug off lingering pandemic gloom – because fun will never be available on Deliveroo, or with a tap of your phone.
So: is anyone up for a game of speed Consequences?
The quizzers
Chris Davies, 59, a postman, and Des Hawkins, 64, a retired teacher, live in Hastings
Des: For 10 years we had a café on Hastings seafront and one day a regular customer invited us to do the quiz with them at a local pub. We did well right from the start, we’re just a lucky combination. I’m a retired teacher.
Chris: And I know a lot of rubbish.
