NOSTALGIA is something that’s always popular, but never more so than in troubled times.

If anything, 2017 has seen the world turn crueller and more unpredictable than last year. Seriously, who ever thought they’d look back at 2016 and think “do you remember when things were just that little bit less terrible”?

Because, for all the horrible things that happened, they were. Yes, there was a massive and unpredictable cull of some of the most beloved and talented people the country – scratch that – the planet has ever seen, but at least we still had optimism.

Yes, even in the doldrums of 2016, there was still a chance our own country wouldn’t tear itself apart, that America wouldn’t vote for Wotsit Hitler (that nickname is one of the best, and certainly one of the most publishable nicknames given to the 45th President of the USA by Twitter), and that once December was out of the way, things would be better.

Yes, maybe it was naive of me to think everything would be fine once some arbitrary calendar period had passed. Curse my misplaced optimism! That’s the last time I’ll be trying to embrace positive thinking.

Instead, I’ll try to adapt to this world where any facts or news which don’t correspond to your own world view can simply be ignored by sticking caps lock on and shouting FAKE NEWS and ALTERNATIVE FACTS until they go away. The President does it every day while Tweeting during his morning bowel movement (sorry for that mental image), and even our own Prime Minister did it this week, throwing ALTERNATIVE FACTS at Jeremy Corbyn to try and distract from a sticky political mess in Surrey.

It’s probably about now some of you more mischievous commenters will want to write something hilarious about how ‘someone in your role will know all about FAKE NEWS, LOL!’ Well, go ahead. Ordinarily I’d write something ironic or sarcastic to beat you to the punch, but if I’m honest, there’s very little point any more.

Yes, I know freedom of speech is a thing, but something else that’s become clear this year is that no matter what your opinion is, how disgustingly racist, fascist, stupid or misogynist, you’ll be able to raise militant support for it.

Turns out Nazis have feelings too, if you believe the white supremacists currently trying to convince the world they’re the ones being persecuted just because they want to wipe out entire races and religious groups.

If you dare to voice an opinion these days, you apparently have to accept that 98 per cent of people won’t care, one per cent will agree, but the other one per cent will somehow see your thoughts as an insult to their mum, and won’t stop trying to crush you in the online sphere.

Granted, that’s one of the least painful spheres to get kicked in, but it leads to the suppression of millions of voices who perhaps feel strongly about a subject and have something valid to say, but aren’t confident enough to take on someone who’s just announced their favourite sport is drop-kicking kittens over fences and anyone who tells them not to do it is a fascist and doesn’t respect their human rights.

York Press:

You know who’s got the best idea for 2017? Major Tim Peake. Yes, the most famous British spaceman since David Bowie, who announced last month he’d be heading back into the exosphere for another mission on the International Space Station.

So considering all that, here is an open letter to Major Tim:

Major Peake,

I read with interest that you have recently announced you will be travelling to the International Space Station for another six month stint.

Please take me with you.

I’m not asking for the riches or fame that will come with being the first out of shape reporter in space. I’m not even asking for a seat – I’ll cling onto the roof rack of the Soyuz rocket all the way to the ISS, because I’m getting really sick of the mess down here, and I’d welcome the peace and tranquillity that comes with the vast, empty vacuum of space. It must be such a welcome change from the relentless angry din down here on Earth.

By all accounts, you might not be going up until 2019, and I’m sure there will be thousands of British people begging for the opportunity to ride shotgun with you.

All I’m saying is, given the two-year head start, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to help you come up with the best excuse for ‘accidentally leaving behind your phone’, and ‘forgetting’ your Twitter password.

Yours hopefully,

Dan Bean

Age 34 and 11 months.