London calling - After the gloom
The dark cloud has disappeared, and Joe Fountain's life feels normal again
A man of my age can only indulge in a certain amount of self-pity. After a while, it becomes a bit pathetic, so after Day 2 of moping around feeling very sorry for myself, I decided to call it quits and stop being so childish. As soon as I closed the office door on Friday evening, I promised myself a good weekend. So what if there was no one in the flat to speak to (once upon I used to love that!) or if I was sleeping alone (ditto)? There are people in the world who have no flat to share with someone to speak to, or no bed... That's how I get myself out of moods these days. Sad. But true.
Anyway, as soon as I got home, I wrote a note that said "do, do, do, do, do, do" all across the weekend on my (electronic) calendar - a kind of mantra that would inspire me to get off my backside and do things. And boy did I! I spent all of Saturday reorganising the flat into a one-bedroom job, turning what was Flatmate's bedroom into what will eventually become a study but is now a bit of a repository for all the stuff that was taking up space in the other rooms, with a desk in the middle. In fact, this is the first of these columns that I'm writing from the new room - listening to my newly downloaded (for free, and legally) Radiohead album. (As I write this, I'm wondering: does my mentioning Radiohead put me in the David Cameron 'Let's-mention-'cool'-bands-in-order-to-gain-credibility' category? Dear gods, please no!)
At dinner with two Maltese friends on Friday before last, we made loose plans to go down to trendy Shoreditch for a night out to a club called Trailer Trash, which sounds right up my street: a bit trendy, a bit offbeat, and a little bit mad. But of course, it was not to be. Trailer Trash turned out to be so trendy that it had upped and gone to Paris for fashion week. I was only informed on Saturday afternoon - halfway through the organic veg aisle in Waitrose - that the plan had changed and that we were going to Vauxhall instead. Goodbye to drunken, zeitgeist personifying youth, hello Middle Earth on ketamine. Surprisingly I lasted until 3 a.m.
Even Sunday - usually my laziest of days - was full of activity. At lunchtime, I caught up with an old university friend who is currently finishing off her PhD and already excited at the prospect of doing her post-doctorate - which to be honest, I didn't even know was possible. She's researching small groups who create their own technologies, and has just come back from Adelaide in Australia where she spent six months observing the city's subcultures. Of course, that set off the romantic notion of giving up work and going back to study, until, of course, I remember that I am, in fact, incapable of studying, and while I could have bulled my way through a degree and a post-graduate, there was very little chance of doing that with a PhD. Besides, there's the financial element to consider.
And so I find myself on the cusp of another weekend, feeling a million times more positive than I did last week. I'm going to be working on the weekend, getting stuff ready for a full on week where I have to come into contact with every single fashion editor in this city, and be happy and chirpy. But it's got to be done, so rather than get all mopey about it, I've gone to the Saturday/Sunday slot of my calendar, and once again written "do do do do do". Looks like I've finally found a mantra I can regularly put to use.
Anyway, as soon as I got home, I wrote a note that said "do, do, do, do, do, do" all across the weekend on my (electronic) calendar - a kind of mantra that would inspire me to get off my backside and do things. And boy did I! I spent all of Saturday reorganising the flat into a one-bedroom job, turning what was Flatmate's bedroom into what will eventually become a study but is now a bit of a repository for all the stuff that was taking up space in the other rooms, with a desk in the middle. In fact, this is the first of these columns that I'm writing from the new room - listening to my newly downloaded (for free, and legally) Radiohead album. (As I write this, I'm wondering: does my mentioning Radiohead put me in the David Cameron 'Let's-mention-'cool'-bands-in-order-to-gain-credibility' category? Dear gods, please no!)
At dinner with two Maltese friends on Friday before last, we made loose plans to go down to trendy Shoreditch for a night out to a club called Trailer Trash, which sounds right up my street: a bit trendy, a bit offbeat, and a little bit mad. But of course, it was not to be. Trailer Trash turned out to be so trendy that it had upped and gone to Paris for fashion week. I was only informed on Saturday afternoon - halfway through the organic veg aisle in Waitrose - that the plan had changed and that we were going to Vauxhall instead. Goodbye to drunken, zeitgeist personifying youth, hello Middle Earth on ketamine. Surprisingly I lasted until 3 a.m.
Even Sunday - usually my laziest of days - was full of activity. At lunchtime, I caught up with an old university friend who is currently finishing off her PhD and already excited at the prospect of doing her post-doctorate - which to be honest, I didn't even know was possible. She's researching small groups who create their own technologies, and has just come back from Adelaide in Australia where she spent six months observing the city's subcultures. Of course, that set off the romantic notion of giving up work and going back to study, until, of course, I remember that I am, in fact, incapable of studying, and while I could have bulled my way through a degree and a post-graduate, there was very little chance of doing that with a PhD. Besides, there's the financial element to consider.
And so I find myself on the cusp of another weekend, feeling a million times more positive than I did last week. I'm going to be working on the weekend, getting stuff ready for a full on week where I have to come into contact with every single fashion editor in this city, and be happy and chirpy. But it's got to be done, so rather than get all mopey about it, I've gone to the Saturday/Sunday slot of my calendar, and once again written "do do do do do". Looks like I've finally found a mantra I can regularly put to use.