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Compulsive Reading

May 29

I do things which do not make any sense

by billygean

“I’ve found one, it’s perfect, it’s ready to book,” I said to MindReader the minute he got back from swimming.

We are not, it turns out, very good at holiday decision-making. We decided to go to California in September, and then we decided to leave California for next year; for a while we were going to go to Greece in May, and then we decided beach/package deals were chavvy, and for the last month we have been toying with the idea of booking Andalusia for the end of June (um, only four weeks from now).

“Ooh, good,” he said. “Which one?”

“Well,” I said. “It’s in the Andalusia region. It’s on the beach. There are mountains just behind it. It’s Spanish, not touristy. And we can get across to Morocco for a day trip.” I didn’t add that the day trip starts at six am and ends at midnight. Weirdly, Internet, I am now the one who is very much used to six am starts and midnight finishes; a place so different to this time last year I can’t even express how long ago that feels. “And Gibraltar,” I added. “And the hotel’s in the town anyway, so there is stuff to do without a car.”

“And how much is it?”

I hesitated. “It’s more than our budget,” I said. “But to be within budget in Andalusia is to be skanky.” I remembered a shabby white hotel on the main road with a neon sign reading “-OTEL,” and gave a shudder.

MindReader spent some time on Trip Advisor (which, by the way, is hilarious. “I am giving this one star because there was no ladle in the kitchen.” “This is an average hotel not a four star hotel. There is no iron. No iron in a four star hotel????”). He looked at my Google map (a snapshot of Andalusia with pins I had stuck down representing the hotel’s location BUT ALSO with a little review from me, an idea I stole from my good friend and Old Housemate Annabolic. Never say I’m not organised when I want to be).

I went out into the garden and watered the plants, the grass crispy and dry under my feet, the sky a dusky, purply-blue. I halfheartedly called Benny’s name, even though he had, in the heatwave, not been coming back until after eleven.

“Right,” MindReader said from the living room. “I’m about to press ‘book’.”

“Ooh ooh,” I said, coming back in and wishing I’d made this moment more ceremonial: that I wasn’t still in my work skirt and ready to go to bed. That I’d lit some candles or opened some wine, or something. Because it was ceremonial. It wasn’t a little trip to Norfolk, worked around illness, or a holiday to Bordeaux with friends for a wedding. It was our holiday. A proper decision had been made: where we wanted to go, and when; one we’d saved up our money for and happily spent it on, confident that we could spend money on a holiday and be okay.

“When does my passport expire?” MindReader said.

“Er…” I sat down on the sofa and suppressed a smile as I remembered last August: a horrible moment as I saw the expiry date stamped on my passport in black: May 2011, yet more car problems, posting my passport to OldestFriend, paying an extortionate amount to have it back within five days, the envelope thumping through my letterbox six hours before we left for the airport. “I’m sure it’s not this year.”

“Sure enough to book?” MindReader said, raising an eyebrow at me.

I made a face, this being what happens when two lawyers cohabit: liability is declaimed, blame shifts according to who is the most sure. “No.”

Thus ensured two hours of passport-searching. The problem wasn’t the expiry date, Internet, but the fact that the passport wasn’t where it should have been. “I’ve seen it somewhere,” I kept saying. “I feel like it’s around.”

“I haven’t seen it since Bordeaux,” MindReader said.

There were many, many fake-triumphant moments. When I found my old passport in between two Harry Potter books was the worst, followed by when I exclaimed over finally finding my digital camera in an old handbag. MindReader wasn’t very happy.

“This is probably your fault,” MindReader said with a smile as I looked in our filing in the spare room and he looked – for some reason, I thought – in the airing cupboard.

“Steady on,” I said. “It’s your passport. You should know where it is.”

“If it turns up somewhere weird…”

My stomach clenched then, as a strange memory of thinking “this does not make sense, but I am going to put MindReader’s passport here” drifted through my head. “I’m sure it’s somewhere very normal,” I said faintly.

I flicked through our car tax documents, even though I’d already done this twice. I heard MindReader rifling through my collection of bathbombs in the airing cupboard, then heard him stop.

MindReader appeared in the spare room, holding a decorative box containing discarded make up.

“Billygean,” MindReader said. “What the fuck was it doing in here?”

We booked the holiday. We leave in four weeks. And I am really quite glad we do not have to book another holiday for a while.

MindReader Holidays I am a little like Rainman

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May 28

Lawyers do car explosions

by billygean

MindReader and I are zipping along the motorway. The sun isn’t quite shining, but it’s not grey and raining either. I put my feet up on the dashboard. We’re on our way to MindReader’s 30th birthday meal and night out. The car is full of presents. My sunglasses are optimistically on my head.

“Ah, look,” MindReader says, pointing across the motorway to the hard shoulder. “That’s where our car lost its tyre last year…”

I remember the day well. It was blisteringly hot. We’d stayed over at a friend’s after a wedding, unexpectedly, and I’d thrown on my dress to come home in, unaware that an hour later I’d be standing by the side of the motorway watching MindReader change a tyre in his full suit (to date, one of the sexiest experiences I’ve had).

A grey cloud looms overhead, and I switch our music to mellow, rainy, David Gray. I turn it up and start singing along.

Between songs, I start to hear a kind of ticking. The kind of noise one knows precedes something bad. The car stalls; I feel its weightlessness, the back end go, and MindReader frowns, taking it out of gear and pushing it in again. And then, the judder, then the bang. The kind that, even to an untrained ear, signals the death of a car. Smoke blooms out of the bonnet.

Neither of us says anything as MindReader guides the car from the fast lane to the hard shoulder. We’re pros at Situations, having had quite a few of them (indeed, we used to bemoan, in 2008, during the period when MindReader and I were both ill, and poor, and living with our parents, and in debt, that we were cursed).

Cars rush past us while we sit in the silence of the car. I look at the clock. MindReader’s birthday ‘do starts in two hours, and we are on the side of the motorway 30 miles from the restaurant in a car which doesn’t work.

“Well,” MindReader says.

“Well.”

We quickly move from silence to mania. We strategise: should I go back with the car and MindReader go to his birthday meal? Should we get the car towed to our destination, an hour from home, and try to find a garage? Should we get someone to rescue us and leave the car here?

The roadside assistance turns up halfway through such discussions.

“D’you think…” MindReader says to him. “You could take the car back to our address, but without us?”

The roadside man blinks.

“We could…” MindReader says, and I think he is about to bribe him, slip him a crumpled twenty pound note hidden in a handshake, except then he says, “sign something.”

driving I can't drive MindReader

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May 27

Sunday night bewilderment

by billygean

“‘Is it worth travelling from Southern Spain to Morocco for a day?”‘ I read aloud from the internet.

MindReader crosses his legs. “And is it?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” I say. “He says, ‘It is quite a lot for a day trip, so I would suggest a night in Tarifa and getting the early fast ferry which takes an hour and a half. Morocco is usually two hours behind Spain so you actually arrive before you leave,’” I read.

I turn to stare at MindReader, bewildered.

He pushes his hair back with his hands. “I’m not…”

“I can’t do that,” I say.

“Fine by me.”

Holidays I don't know things other people know MindReader

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May 16

Sun in a bath

by billygean

May is one of my favourite months. There is always a Moment, in late April or May, when the sun comes out for an entire, cloudless day, and it’s about 10 degree warmer than it has been.

There is a comparable moment which usually takes place in November or sometimes October. When OldestFriend and I were growing up, we called this The Christmas Moment. Any combination of dark early-evenings, lit-up shops displaying twinkling lights, mulled wine, gingerbread lattes, being able to see your breath clouding the air in front of you and lighting a candle and curling up to read a book could induce The Christmas Feeling.

The May Moment is more elusive, but it always comes in the end. I have been blogging for seven Mays, and I remember such May Moments well. In 2006, I picked up a pre-release of questions for an exam on Hardy and Wilde and took myself off to walk in a bluebell wood, as a way of saying, I have the pre-release for my last exam, therefore, they’re almost over. I had my May Moment when some blossom petals sprinkled down onto my be-flipflopped feet. It was a message: summer’s almost here, and here’s a preview.

In 2007, the sun came out for one day’s learning cases in the garden. My Moment came over a pot of coffee as a breeze gently lifted the hair off my neck.

In 2008, I spent most of May in the garden, too unwell to do anything else. Thomas Hardy must mean May to me, because I quoted him when I wrote about my May Moment here. In 2009, I experienced my May Moment on the way home from my first shift at BathShop, sleepless and smelling of bathbombs, getting stuck in the middle of the gay pride march and almost fainting from the exhaustion and the heat.

In 2010, we whiled away an absolutely perfect afternoon at MindReader’s niece’s first birthday party. He drank non-alcoholic beer (for I couldn’t drive) and I burnt my shoulders in the sun. In 2011, we were due to host our leg of a mock-Come Dine With Me and I drank too much white wine in the garden, fell asleep and burnt the shape of my sunglasses over my eyes.

This May, the weather is shit. Abysmal. It’s not only overcast and rainy, but also COLD. Eight degrees cold. Every morning, I check the weather, looking for my May Moment, and every morning it rains as we wait for our train to work.

MindReader is turning 30 on Sunday, and we’re going on a long-planned raucous night out on the Saturday. I’m wearing a cream dress, so last night I decided to slather myself in my trusted Clarins fake tan. One thing led to another, though, as I was primping myself.

I ran a bath with a blue bathbomb, filled with seaweed, that’s supposed to smell of the beach. I lit some candles and slipped into the bright blue bath. I bought some shampoo and conditioner (with my Advantage card points, budget-aware readers) that smell of camomile and lemon balm and sunshine. I used a coconut soap. And I had the world’s most decadent, beach-themed bath, and when I got out, I was suntanned.

I’m not sure if this counts as a May Moment, May. I’m still waiting.

baths Seasons

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May 15

Olympic ticketing

by billygean

“Billygean,” MindReader says as I walk into DoctorSister’s living room carrying a scone and a cup of coffee.

“Mmm?” I say, settling down next to him in my pyjamas.

“Put this password into this website,” MindReader says.

“Er, okay,” I say, handing my scone to him.

“It’s for Olympic tickets,” he says. “The temporary password doesn’t work. I must’ve tried it ten times.”

“The lowercase “L” is actually a capital “I”,” I say. We log in first time.

“Thanks,” MindReader says. “I knew you’d do it. That’s your thing.”

“Hm?” I say, taking my scone back.

“You can log into websites really well.”

Family I am a little like Rainman MindReader

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May 14

DoctorSister’s sharp wit plus photos

by billygean

“So she really needs to start learning how to go to sleep herself soon,” DoctorSister says, eyeing EarlyNiece as she bangs her hands on the table.

“You fed to sleep until you were at least a year old,” Mum says.

DoctorSister puts her paintbrush down and raises her eyebrows. We’re painting pots, for no reason at all, really. I’ve painted a teapot bright orange and drawn Benny’s face on one side and printed EarlyNiece’s feet on the other. A classic design.

“Great,” DoctorSister says. EarlyNiece is eight months old. DoctorSister goes back to doctoring at the end of the summer; EarlyNiece is on a sleep deadline (the worst thing for insomniacs, which she definitely is).

“Whereas you,” Mum says, turning to me, “were so independent. When you wanted to go to sleep you just didn’t want to know. You just wanted to be on your own.”

I smile. “That’s funny,” I say. “I’m not really like that now.”

“Yes,” DoctorSister says. “And most of the time, I don’t need feeding to sleep, either.”

EarlyNiece Family photos

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May 13

I like to go to both extremes, before I land in the balanced middle. I think it’s good for you.

by billygean

Historically, I haven’t been very good at doing things on my own. I don’t mean spending time on my own; I’m very good at that. I mean, doing things alone. If I needed to buy a new TV, I would ask everybody in my immediate family what they thought. Career decisions would be agonised over with MindReader listening patiently. I would arrange to meet friends prior to going out for drinks, so I wouldn’t be going there alone.

I don’t really know why I did these things. I read something once which really resonated with me:

“For her, the taste of the ice cream, the red of the sunset, the humor in the movie must be shared to be.” – Elizabeth Berg

This is definitely how I used to feel about the world, why I have always, always, lived with somebody. I may spend a reasonable amount of time on my own, but I tell a lot of people (my parents, MindReader, DoctorSister and BestFriend always, but often more people) about the things I have done on my own.

I was always slightly in awe of people who got on with things on their own. MindReader is one such person. He could board a train to somewhere strange, stay in random hotels, and when I called him, he would answer his phone and tell me that he was fine, that there was nothing to report. A few months ago, I would’ve told him about the smell of the train, about the ticket barrier not letting me through, about how I like the idea of hotels but not the reality (yes, I was boring). The idea of buying a car, and telling my family I had bought a car, not that I was going to buy a car oddly thrills me.

A few weeks ago, I had to travel for work to a big city I’ve never been to. Some of my other colleagues were travelling from Birmingham, too, but I wanted to drive. So I drove there, found the place myself, parked the car, walked to the building, and went on a night out, stay over someplace foreign, and drove back alone the next day, with nothing but my music and the hum of the car keeping me company. Totally normal. Nothing special. Except it was.

This freedom, this alone-ness has infiltrated every area of my life. I like to do things sometimes at lunch on my own. Often, i meet friends or MindReader, but recently I’ve been doing other things. Going to the library, going on a walk to Chinatown or finding some fountains to gawk at. And I’ve been not telling anyone. Sometimes, the people in my life who I telephone all the time (the above list) will call me, and I will say, “oh, I’ve just been in Brindley Place,” – like, I was free to talk, but I decided to do something all by myself, for me.

This is new.

City life Finding my way

4 Comments »
May 12

Vlogging project, take two: what would your 16 year-old self think of you now?

by billygean

This fortnight, we answered ‘what would your 16 year-old self think of you now?’. I included some excruciatingly embarrassing pictures, as did some of the other vloggers. Here are those bad boy pictures in full.

And now for the videos:

Valerie’s blog and twitter.

Kate’s twitter.

My twitter.

Nathan’s blog, twitter and website.

Jacki’s blog and twitter.

I love the internet Vlogging project

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May 12

A year ago from now, you’ll wish you started today

by billygean

So, it’s been about a month. I continue to spend no money. Two blog readers actually emailed me to say that I was being extreme about money, but this is a particularly tough month, and my budget won’t always be this strict. MindReader turns 30, we had to tax the car, and it’s the final payday before our holiday soon, and I just do not have enough money for it to go to those places and to pay off debt and to be frivolous with meals out or clothes or even lunch.

Looking at my bank statement, I have spent the following (I’m not going to list my rent and phone bills and food, etc. Just the things I don’t need):

£16 meal out in Shrewsbury. I went to watch MindReader play football. Everybody went for Italian. It was my first meal out since I started this. Luckily, I had budgeted for it, but it still wrote home to me how much £16 is, and how disproportionate spending can feel. It takes me a lot of effort to save £16. But it takes half an hour, a risotto and a few drinks to spend it.

£3 lunch. This was my only lunch in the working week for a month. I thought I had a meeting with lunch provided, but it got cancelled. I was tempted to go hungry, but I felt that was a little extreme. And then I was late and I had to spend £3 to put money on a card. Le sigh.

£2 library fines. No excuse.

I’ve also spend quite a lot on MindReader’s birthday but that was so well budgeted for, I got none of the guilt and the shock and the tense checking of bank accounts after I bought it. It just felt nice.

I feel the above is a bit biased, though, and doesn’t acknowledge that on about 27 of the days this month, I spent absolutely nothing.

But what is amazing about this is that in just one month (two pay days) I have gone from living hand to mouth to having leeway. I am now £300 away from my overdraft limit. I try not to think that I could just go over the month’s budget and nothing would happen, but it’s true. If something happened – if my car blew up, or if Benny got sick, I could deal with it. Getting out of debt has already given me more rewards than cardigans and lunches out ever did.

And if I needed any concrete evidence, my monthly interest has gone down by £4. Not a lot. But it’s a couple of lattes, and it’s like HSBC, in my own romantic world view, saying “carry on.”

Positivity Sorting Shit Out

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May 11

Public Enemy Number One

by billygean

“Oh, Public Enemy,” MindReader says as they blare out of my laptop’s speakers.

“I don’t really know about Public Enemy,” I say. “Who are they?”

“Like a rap group.”

“Are they related to ‘Public Enemy Number One’?” I say, making finger quotes.

MindReader smiles, uncrossing his legs. “No. That’s not… That’s not a band.”

“What is it?”

“It’s kind of a phrase.”

“Oh I see. Like, ‘Hitler is Public Enemy Number One’?”

“Yes.”

“I understand.”

“Or, next week, Gordon Brown might be Public Enemy Number One,” MindReader says.

“Oh. I don’t understand.”

“So whoever’s unpopular at the time.”

“Okay,” I say. “So who is considered to be number two – on the whole?”

blonde moments I don't know things other people know MindReader

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