Developments

Monday 

Get up at 11 on account of complete indecisiveness about what to do. Going out in public with the biggest hickey (remember them) there has ever been is the main thing holding me back. Get a call about doing a nude shoot on Thursday for £200, say I’ll do it. After the call I remember I’m still committed to the beer shoot (£550) happening some day this week. Get a call back an hour later. They want my balls. They first want me to send them over a full frontal picture but they really want me. How the hell am I going to take one of them with no mirror? Going to have to ask Joe to close his eyes and do it. I tell him about my commitment to the beer commercial happening “some day this week”. They were supposed to get back about it today but no word. He’s going to have to take me off it. I say I’ll ring back in the morning as soon as I hear back from them.

Hit the outdoor gym, cook some food, have a nap at 7. Go to bed before 12 but cant get to sleep til 2ish, wake up at 2:30 for a leak and can’t get to sleep till 4ish. Nude shoot and beer shoot are running around my head non stop. I better not miss the nude one cause of holding out for the beer one that might not even happen.

Tuesday

Alarm goes off at 5:45. Somewhere between 2 and 3 hours sleep. Make sure to wear a collar. Luckily the shop is empty so I can nip to the changing room for a couple of pics. I don’t look anything like I thought I do. It’s so surreal to look at.

I start cutting a new pair of dark blue linen trousers. Get a call out of the blue from a trouser maker on the next street. He asks will I come down. Say I’ll be down in two minutes. Says he’s looking for someone Monday and Tuesday, when can I do a trial. I say now. Last time I did a trial with him I was hungover, this time I’ve had no sleep. Start doing some pressing first, learn a thing or two. He tells me to press the belt loops but don’t cut the thread that you need to turn it inside out. He talks awful fast and mumbly. I cut the thread.

I do some mark stitching. Thankfully it has improved a lot in the last year. He shows me how he puts on a bar for a baste. He steps out and I fish out the thread for the belt loop and start to turn it inside out. I start on the smaller one too but stop half way through on both just in case I’m missing something. He comes back and is happy with my work. He picks up the smaller one and starts to turn it. I pick up the big one, pull it too hard and snap the thread. Go do some pressing. This is a shit way of turning belt loops. Says he’s happy with my mark stitching so we break for lunch.

Decide that I’m going for the nude shot. Go balls deep! He says to send pic over asap. Mooch off starbucks’ internet making sure my back is firmly against the wall. Pic wont send. Run up Savile Row to the shops wifi, hair wont stop hitting me in the face. Finally pic sends. Run back down Savile Row and to the trouser makers. Explain to him why I was late but not making much sense and he couldn’t care less. He asks me to put on a bar for a baste and steps out. I pretty much have the gist of his way but find the last one he did hanging up and copy it exactly. He comes back and says it shows I’m a quick learner. He’s definitely happy with my work, have this in the bag. Gives me some side stitching on a line the whole length of the side seam. The icing on the cake. My finishing is a thing of beauty nowadays. Do it well and get a thumbs up. Do some felling on side adjusters. Impressed again he gives me more to do.

I was meant to be out at ZDDZ at 4, its pushing on 5. If this trial didn’t come up I would have been on my way well before 4. I say I have to go out to make a phone call and ring the number I got from Dasha for Masha. Dasha is a friend of Daria who I know from surfing. Daria mailed us both on Sunday saying Dasha needs some help with her fashion show for her company ZDDZ. Dasha is working on getting her visa so won’t be back for a couple of days but says I can go out to the workshop and ring her colleague Masha when I get there. I’m not going to make it at all at this stage so call her to rearrange.

Its fairly blustery out. “Hi is that Masha? I…”

I cant hear her at all so step into a doorway for shelter.

“Hi is that Masha? I got your number from Dasha.” This sounds ridiculous. I can’t make out what she’s saying and start talking louder. “I can’t hear you, is that Masha? It’s Neil, I was talking to your friend Dasha.” This just sounds stupid.

“Sorry you have the wrong number.”

Fuck I cant ring again after that ridiculous call. I run up to Savile Row for the wifi and send Dasha a mail to get Masha to ring me instead. I run back down and finish the trial for 6 then head back up to Savile Row to get my bike. 

My arms are tired on the cycle home, which is weird. Later on I get a text from a Maria asking can I come in for 10 tomorrow. I can only assume Maria is someone who works for ZDDZ as well. The woman on the phone did sound English; maybe I had the right number after all. I tell her that’s fine, does she want me for the day or what’s the plan. She says she doesn’t know the plan, but will decide on the place. Decide on the place, what does that mean? I text her saying I’ll see her at the studio; just to be sure. She says cool, thank you. Hang on a second, there is no Masha. Dasha meant to say Maria but predictive text must have changed the RI to SH. I did have the right number for Maria but kept asking for Masha over and over. Maria is Masha. Ah ha.

Wednesday

In bed by 10 but predictably don’t get up till 8:30. On the way to the bathroom to brush my teeth I take on a mouth full of water. After a few seconds I notice that instead of using my mouth muscles to rinse my mouth out I’m just shaking my head to move the water around. And it’s not even shaking really; I’m slowly turning my head from side to side, like I’m saying “no” under water. That’s the most effort I can muster, boy am I wrecked.

I get out to Bethnal Green which is in fact a mile and a half longer than I was told on google maps. Up on the fourth floor I awkwardly bundle my bike through a couple of doors and see Maria standing inside the studio expecting me. Rather than introduce myself or shake her hand I ask will my bike be OK there but its in front of someone’s door so I put it against the other wall just outside the studio. Inside the studio I take off my cycling shoes and change into my runners. Then I take off my gloves and put them in my bag and take out my sewing stuff. Finally I look up and say “Hi I’m Neil, are you Maria?”

“Yes, hi I’m Masha.”

She’s definitely not English. “You’re Masha? But I thought I was meeting Maria?”

“I am Maria.”

“I thought you just said…”

“Masha is Maria.”

Neil doesn’t understand. I look at her like a confused puppy.

“Masha is Russian for Maria so either one is fine.”

“Oh right. So I was talking to you on the phone yesterday?”

“No, Dasha said you tried to call but she gave you the wrong number.”

“But I checked and it is your number. Did you get a call at like 5 o clock yesterday?”

“No. Someone else must have got it.” She laughs and walks over to the table and takes a sip of tea. “So you’re friends with Dasha right?”

“No, I just talked to her about this for the first time the other day.”

“But I thought you went surfing with her or something?”

“No I’m friends with her friend Daria from surfing.”

“I know” She smiles knowingly. “Daria is Dasha.”

This can’t be possible. “But I have them both on facebook, they can’t be…”

“In Russian, Daria is Dasha. I’m talking about Daria. I call her Dasha”

“Oh right.” I’m very, very confused. “yeah I went surfing with her a couple times. So you know Daria too then?”

“You mean Dasha?”

“The one I went surfing with.”

“Oh, yeah she comes in here sometimes.”

“Cool. So when is Dasha coming back?”

“Oh she doesn’t work with us anymore.”

“But it’s her label?”

“Oh, Dasha? She should be back tomorrow”

“We’re going to have to come up with a way to distinguish between them.”

Housemates thoughts on life

On Tottenham:

Took hours to get home, couple of crashes on the 406, ended up going through Tottenham which I’d never done before. That’s a shithole, which I knew.

 

On office workers:

Its not real work what they do, is it? Sure what do they do all day: grovelling, sending emails, making cups of tea stabbing people in the back.

 

On the floods:

Fucking 'ell they live in a fuckin' flood plain what do they expect?

What did Noah do, did he ask the government or the fuckin Romans for dredging and sand bags or what? they would of said "here we’re gonna chop your head off, build a boat and fuck off!"

 

On the tube strikers:

(on the way to work in work van) Damn should have checked the lottery I could be a multi millionaire and I’m going to this place. I’ll check at Hyde Park sure. I'll still go to work and back just to waste a bit of diesel though. Take the day off, join them cunts on strike. Buy them all a cup of tea...and a bar o' soap.

 

On the credit crisis:

Them Americans giving mortgages away to anyone: smack heads, crack heads, don’t matter.

"Yeah I’m an entrepreneur."

"What have you got as collateral?"

"A shopping trolley and a bit of copper wiring."

 

On a miserable tube staff member:

This guy is the most miserable cunt. Either his dick fell off, or his bollocks...don’t have one, or he just can't have a shag. It's like he has a lemon in his mouth...for-ever!

 

On taxi drivers possessing a sense of direction:

That means your good at memory. You’re a thick cunt but not in an intelligent way

 

On parking tickets:

I feel like going back up north and getting a great big shire horse and I’m gona sit on my big shire horse and they wont be able to give me a ticket for nothin'. I’ll say "ere stick it on my shire horse" and they’ll stick it on his 'ead and he’ll fucking eat it and I’ll say "there you go you cunt."

On shit phones:

Pay peanuts for a phone you get some sort of monkey shit

On the run:

(some dodgy people upstairs have taken their numbers down off their door and somehow taken away their letterboxes too. We've had a couple of mice in the kitchen lately.)

I’m kind of on the run too I guess, with the way I moved to London years ago. But I’m more of on a jog whereas they (people upstairs) are running.
(Later talking about lack of community in London) Yeah its shit here for society and getting to know your neighbours, unless you’re on the run

On our jerk landlords restrictions:

No animals allowed either, but as much mice as you like

On his employers stinginess:

I went on one of them courses and it was all about if the glass is half full or half empty and well its half empty if I’m working for them. I can't afford to fill the thing, fuckin 'ell

On career prospects:

If I lose my job I cant stay around here, I’m just going to start walking mate. Yeah do a forrest gump on it and just walk. Cant be sticking around here, fuck that

Hitchiking

As a consequence of being extremely broke I’ve decided to try new things such as hitchhiking. Also want to get some hitchhiking experience in cause it really is the way to travel. During the summer I hitchhiked part of the way to Newquay and the whole way back and it worked a charm so I decided last minute to take a trip to Manchester to see my auntie, watch match of the day and the Arsenal match on the Sunday. This is the first time I’ve lived in a place without a tv and the first time Arsenal have made a good start to a season in ages so things like this have become important.

Got to Brent Cross around 9.30. This is the place to start if you’re heading north. It’s not a very attractive place, bit of a concrete jungle, plenty of motorway roundabouts everywhere, and a massive shopping centre. 

The Gooner

After about 10 minutes waiting at the designated spot a white van man pulled in and swung open his door. He was on the phone but told me he was going to Milton Keynes. I didn’t really know where that was but jumped in. He told me it was half way to Birmingham which is about half way to Manchester so that would do for now. He continued his phone conversation: “yeah I just picked up one of them people at the side of the road…yeah I’m going to chop him up like on that tv show the other night…ah only messing.”

After he hung up he straight away asked me who I support. What a perilous question, it could really make or break your journey depending on how hard core of a fan you meet. He pointed to his hat. I couldn’t really make out the lettering but could tell by the big smile on his face that he was an Arsenal fan too, and a proper one at that. He was delighted.

He used to be a footballer too and almost made it but for the injury, went to the same school as the donkey and his claim to fame was he made captain of the school team at a younger age than Adams. I could really relate to all this and filled him in on my time playing for Templeogue United’s U13 B team, and how despite scoring a header in my last game against league winners Jobstown I gave it all up for an indoor sport cause there was too many cold and wet days when someone toe bogged that rock of a ball at me and I bravely lifted my knee and turned away making my shorts rise up my leg in anticipation of the rock slapping me on the bare white thigh and turning it a bright pink. He filled me in on Arsenal hooliganism which I didn’t know anything about before, and didn’t really believe likely till he took a sneaky swig from his can of carling. Arsenal weren’t playing for 30 hours! Pity he was only going to Milton Keynes cause we could have yapped away all day, and pity he was going to Milton Keynes cause I checked it out on the way and it was supposed to be shit hard to hitch out of.

The Good Grandson

Until I came along. Only took about 20 minutes to get a lift off a very nice (maybe overly nice) 18 year old chap who was on the way to see his Granddad in Birmingham and had made lots of sensible decisions in life. He had always wanted to pick up a hitchhiker so after he passed me by initially he swung around again so he could fulfil his dream. I don’t think reality played out exactly the way he thought it would. After the initial few minutes of fun and inspiring hitchhiking tales I ran out of ideas and realised he wasn’t as much fun as the Arsenal fan. There was a long while of quiet before we finally stumbled upon some great conversation material. It appeared a good few cars were pulling onto the hard shoulder, seemingly in a spot of bother. “I wonder what they’re up to” I said. It wasn’t long after that that our car started getting all wobbly and we had to pull over too with a puncture.

It was absolutely roasting in the car so as soon as we stopped I took my jumper off over my head. Unfortunately my phone was in the pocket and fell onto the hard hard road. I’d dropped my phone a ton of times without any problems so when I picked it up and noticed the smashed screen I thought: that’s funny. I slid the screen to unlock it and cut my thumb on the broken plastic. The screen didn’t unlock. My thumb did bleed. It was a short but deep cut. Luckily I had one square of toilet paper to stem the bleeding. Otherwise I’d have had to use a sock. For the rest of the day I was to wonder whether or not there was plastic inside my thumb. In an instant I had lost two hitchhiking essentials: a good clean thumb and a phone with internet. I hadn’t exactly told my auntie I was coming and since the last time I was in her house was 18 years previous, although I knew her address I didn’t have much else going for me.

Birmingham was half way there. Do I give in and turn back, say cheers for the lift buddy, sorry about the tire but could you let me off at the next exit? Or do I boldly go in search of adventure, without a phone and without a clue into the wilderness that is Manchester City Centre?

My good driver burnt his arm on the exhaust getting the spare tire. Boy did that make me feel bad. I always feel bad when I mess with fate like that. What if I stayed at home and he got to Birmingham without having to fork out 50 quid for a new tire and bandage his arm? What if Granddad was sick with worry cause he was late for the first time? Or that time I was going down to Newquay and this doctor picked me up. She was working nights and was so drowsy most of the time that she used to stand in the supermarket looking at the cheese for ages before a shop assistant would come over and snap her out of it. She went out of her way to leave me at a good spot at the side of a road that cars were just flying down. As she turned around and pulled out she waved to me instead of looking where she was going and a guy had to jam on his breaks and left a skid mark about 20 feet long while she drove off in dreamland. What if she died? What would I seriously have done? Or that time I missed my flight to Portugal and had to get 7 buses. I was walking out of a car park along the middle of a road cause I was too tired to care and a guy driving in slammed on his breaks (very unnecessarily it must be said) and then a bus smashed right into the back of him. What if I just got on another bus instead of looking for the train station?

The Quiet Russian

Well we went to a service station for air and I really should have gotten out then but he assured me he’d leave me at a great spot further on. It was 12 when we got there and I was thinking I could be in Manchester in record time, but that great spot turned out to be a load of shit. I was in the area for about 2 hours, hope slowly slipping away. Then it got worse. A car driving from behind me started beeping its horn real fast; I turned in anticipation and was greeted by some jerk with his face plastered against the window waving and smiling like a fucking lunatic. Next thing a big huge fly flew straight for me and wapped me right in the cheek. I wouldn’t mind but it came from the whole way across the fucking road, its hardly like I came out of nowhere. Talk about kicking someone while they’re down. Fuck was this getting embarrassing. Then a car crept up behind me and let out a little beep. I approached the car slowly, how was it so quiet? This Russian guy said he’d bring me back to the service station I was at earlier; I would have more chance from there. He didn’t say much else. Again I was faced with the decision to go to Manchester or cross the bridge and head home. If I had of been waiting around for more than half an hour I might have gone home but luckily a very old man stopped for me.

The Engineer

He looked a lot like Jack Charlton and sounded a lot like him too. He had dropped his wife off at a hospital and was on the way back to Wigan. You could tell they were still in love, ah. The road to Wigan crosses the road from Liverpool to Manchester at about the half-way point, and they aren’t all that far apart so I’d be there in no time, or so I thought. He had just got a new hearing aid and it was acting up on him a bit so with my low voice he decided to carry the conversation for most of the way, which suited me down to the ground.

In a fb world of shit regurgitated one liners it was nice to hear a bit of old fashioned story telling for a change. Back in the day he was in the shipping industry around the world and spoke about a time before pollution was considered a bad thing…”ah it was a great job for a man, the hardest part is the wife. Before I got married I went off to sea for 10 months to finish my apprentice, and made £41 a month. The guys with wives would send maybe £25 back home and I sent a bit back to me muddah. When I got home I had £90 in them big white £5 notes and that was the first time she had seen that much money at one time. I went out and bought myself a made a measure suit, cost me £14…we spilled 20,000 litres of oil in the sea but (with a wave of his hands) people didn't worry about that kind of thing back then. We ran aground up in Sweden and were filthy from head to toe, there’s a cleaner for the oil tanker that presses water into the tanker and pushes it down until it cleans it out. Sure what do we do with this oily sea water, just throw it in the deep tank. There’s plenty of room in the deep tank. That's what we called the sea, it was back before people cared about that sort of thing, oh we would throw everything in there, oil, metal, timber, just stick it in the deep tank…an oil company in Nigeria were looking for a white man to teach their crew. The guys were coming on the boat and didn't know which way to turn the taps for the water. I went around on the ship for a bit but it kept breaking down all the time, then we stopped at Cork one time and I said that's it I'm getting off. I went to Australia, Africa, that was a life..”

Well I started to get very warm and cosy in my coat and with the new car it was quite a smooth journey. Then I fell asleep. Sleep feels no embarrassment or shame that a man 3 times my age can stay awake for the whole journey, it comes when it wants to. It was one of the ones where you know you're asleep and try snap out of it but fall asleep again straight away. A couple of times I knew I had my mouth wide open, it’s not a good look. I woke just before he dropped me off at a petrol station on the road to Manchester.

He said to start walking and hitch a lift along the road but I knew it was a bad idea after about 2 minutes cause there was no hard shoulder on my side. No path either so I was walking cross country through big tufty grass that was a killer on the legs and ankles. I alternated between both sides of the road cause on the other side there was a nice path and cycle lane the whole way, crossing back over a couple of times when I passed a place where drivers could pull in, but no one really wanted to. I stopped a cyclist at one point and was surprised to hear him say its about 14 miles to Manchester. That was a blow and at about 6pm knowing it was going to get dark soon I packed in all efforts of getting a lift and pushed on with the walk. At one point I stopped to get a stone out of the bottom of my shoe and re-opened the cut on my thumb. I was beginning to look bedraggled.

The Dog Walker

After 10 miles I came to a turn off the main road and the glimpse of a city bus. I stopped to talk to a dog walker old man in a suit. He was startled when I said I'm going to Manchester and said in his Fred the butcher voice “you cant walk it, you cant walk that, its about 8 miles, will take you about 4 hours, no get a bus, its regular and its not expensive.” I walked down to the next bus stop, there were 5 different buses but they all came once an hour or less. He walked around the block and met me again and talked a bit more and said what buses I can get. I thought I was going to Trafford and saw that one of the buses was too so asked him should I get that or go to town. Is Trafford in Urmston or is Urmston in Trafford? Well he told me something but I stopped listening cause he really did like the sound of his own voice. Then I heard him say he’s bringing the dog back and then getting the bus himself to the wine bar hence the whistle and flute. A few minutes later that bus came, I hesitated, didn’t stop it and just watched him looking out the window at me with a very confused look on his face.

I began to think I wouldn’t be catching match of the day and might even have to consider getting a hostel in town. A while later I jumped on a bus to town. I got talking to a couple of people on the bus who had totally different opinions on what I should do. One said I should get off at the next stop and get two more buses. That was a lot of information to take in in 30 seconds so I went with the other option and stayed on til town to get the 15 right to the door. I got off at Piccadilly, walked to the 15 bus stop and was sad to see it had just left and the next one wasn’t for an hour. It seemed to me that there were a lot of crazies in town so I opted to get the 225 which left sooner and went to somewhere in Urmston too. Turns out Urmston is a big place but some guy told me which way to go to the house and I got there in half an hour, just after seeing the next 15 bus fly by and in time to catch the last 20 minutes of match of the day.

The Loud Whisperer

I decided to get the bus home on the Monday seen as it was only £6 when booked in advance but I almost immediately regretted that decision. It was 45 minutes late, cramped and stuffy, boring, and worst of all there was a loud Indian woman up the front of the bus having an argument with her husband for the entire journey. She had this whispery gravely voice and repeated everything she said 3 times. She was giving idle sounding threats about divorcing him and said such things as I will divorce you, I will divorce you, I will divorce you, put your mother on the phone, put your mother on the phone, put your mother on the phone, put your son on the phone, put your son on the phone, put your son on the phone. It was hell.

Still pigeon holed after all these years

well, just got some great news today that the bank of insert dodgy country name here want to interview me for a long term temporary (previously thought of as a paradox but I became that in my last dodgy bank) loans administrator role. Still pigeon holed to the max after all these years.

-----

Travelled over an hour each way for a 7 minute interview. The guy was sound but the two women were old fat and ugly, and looked terribly unhappy. They didnt probe me and just talked about how snowed under they are and the work just keeps coming and coming. really made it sound like a great place to work altogether, that would really be a dream come through for me. But alas I am completely broke and if offered I would have to take it for a bit, starts next week. I'm going through the toughest of times since I've been to london, all my money is tied up in extra work. But I'm still waiting to hear back from the dream tailoring job and in the mean time and during the internship part I could do extra work. But they take months to pay so I'd be tight for cash at times. Watched the office last night and tim was telling dawn its better to be at the bottom of a ladder that you want to climb that half way up one you dont. dont want to get stuck in a bank and lose tailoring, times are tough indeed.


-----

in a funny turn of events I got a call from another agency today talking about a loans admin job that sounded very familiar, and I started to get my hopes up but turns out its for the same bank again. They must have some flag that pops up saying I worked for a dodgy bank before, unbelievable.

-----

A few years ago while I was in the bank I used to get pissed that my agency would never put me forward for any decent jobs, and every time I got a call about a new job it was always the same shit role for another dodgy bank. One of the lads thought it very funny and made a video about my life at that time. It still rings true today.


http://youtu.be/Lhnga2pI7AE

A week in the summer of let downs

Tuesday

 

Awake at 9.30, its bucketing down, fuck that, go back to sleep. Get up after 11. Sleep routine is so messed up right now its killing me. Milk tastes just edging on sour, almost ruins my weetabix. There’s the tiniest bit left after me. I pack my good trousers and two books and head out. Yesterday I went running in my barefoot runners up hills without having broken them in properly and by the end my calves were in a lot of pain. By the morning they were as tight as a motherfucker. I’ve been renewing this book for months cause I don’t live near a library anymore that’s in the London network of libraries. Today was the day I was finally bringing it back. I was getting off at Shadwell but googled Shadwell library and saw it was closer to limehouse so jumped back on the train one stop back and walked from there. My legs will thank me. Turned out it wasn’t the proper library and I had to go back to one two minutes from Shadwell station. An extra half hour walk with tight calves and the rain pouring down was not what I wanted. I brought back the book and printed off a few copies of my new 1 page CV. It’s cut down for tailoring work so I got rid of all my education bar my new diploma, and cut out all my banking experience and put in my few days tailoring work experience. Have to say it looks pretty shit. Went up to a tailors in East London, couldn’t find it, walked around the block, found another then found the first one and handed a CV into both and waddled out. Original one seemed cool, other one seemed shit and not really bespoke.

 

Walked up to Hackney to go get some fabric. Almost as soon as I got there a big argument broke out between the manager and two African ladies. This guy takes no shit from no one and doesn’t really give a crap about customer service in the slightest. They were buying some cloth that a staff member said was £2 a meter.

The manager said he was mistaken its actually £3 a meter.

But he said it was £2.

He was wrong, its £3. Cue massive argument for about 10 minutes. I managed to get about a quarter of it on video (which I cant find now) but it was really dying down by that stage which will tell you how bad it had been. Pisspot came over and looked at cloth but couldn’t pick anything. Says he might be moving out soon cause he’s jobless too. Move in with me, I need someone in a month or so.

 

Got some fabric then jumped on a bus to Oxford Circus. Some guy across from me offered me a banana. I was OK but he says go on take it I just got too many. It was green so I wasn’t pushed but I took it anyway to please him. He spent most of the rest of the journey talking to himself so I figured maybe I’d throw it in the next bin. Got to town but tailor shop owner had left work early, talked to new guy for a bit, sound chap.

---What are you doing in town?

---Ah just meeting someone, might be going to the opera or something I don’t know.

---Just get drunk.

---Good idea. Says for me to ring shop owner, I do but no answer.

 

Then I get a text from the new extras agency I signed up for. They want to put me forward for a stand in for an actual actor. Holy shit. Ha, maybe I do look a bit like him. It’s on Friday but I’m away for the weekend working at a festival. Shit I still need to fork out for a tent. I still haven’t heard when the bus is going, maybe its not going til Friday and I could make the casting, or I could head down late. But if I get there late they’ll probably cut me and I won’t make any money this weekend.

 

Head over to Covent Garden, she’s in the return queue for day 2 tickets for Swan Lake. She’s about 5^th out of 10 people. I wonder can I mooch in but decide not to. Maybe she can buy two tickets anyway. I check my mail and see the bus is going down Thursday evening, balls. Fuck it I’ll text back and say I’ll go for the casting. Maybe it will all work out. She’s starving so I give her the banana and head to the back of the queue. A while later she comes down and we say we might leave then she heads back to her spot, calls me, I pick up my bag, she says no leave your stuff, I walk over and some old bollox half way between me and her in the queue starts screaming at her about trying to get me to skip in.

I was like ---my stuff is back there, we’re just talking,

---Yeah you are now that I caught you.

-If I wanted to skip in I would have done it earlier when you weren’t watching when I was standing talking to her.

---No cause I was watching you then too.

If you were a hundred years younger I’d….

 

Then he went on and on shouting and waving his newspaper about. She got upset but tells me that the woman beside her in the queue will sell her an £8 ticket when she gets a better one for herself. Then she’ll give that to me and get a semi decent one for herself. We went back to our spots but after a few minutes I decided I couldn’t put up with that old fucker, it must be something after seeing that argument earlier that you can’t just have people shouting at you for nothing. Well I gave him a piece of my mind and told him he should apologize but I guess I wasn’t too convincing and he didn’t back down or admit he was wrong. You get some right twats at events like this. He kept looking down at my shoes like he was going to say something but I suppose I did feel like a bit of a hobo around the people in there.

 

Well the £8 ticket was £8 for a reason. If I really leaned forward and craned my neck I had a view of one quarter of the stage although at the time I thought it was half. People would be clapping and bravo-ing at dances that I wouldn’t even know had happened. Doesn’t matter anyway I just spent the whole time replaying the arguments with that old jerk over and over in my head. Then it ends and people start bowing. Is that it? Hope so, its fucking shit from up here. Go out and turns out it’s only half time but she has a great seat for me for the second half. Its two rows in front of her and she’s dead centre but miles up the back. Complete view of the stage though. Fuck I don’t know, what if that guy comes in and I’m sitting in his seat, that would not go down well with this crowd if I had to move from the middle of a row in the middle of some stupid dance. She also says that the girl beside her is getting her seat invaded by the ass of a large lady beside her and she’s moaning about her the whole time and even took a picture of the ass to show the ticket guys and try get a partial refund. The absolute wankers that go to this sort of thing.

 

We go back in and I chance taking the seat. But it’s a long 5 minutes and I am shitting it, completely land locked right dead centre in the middle of the whole section. If I have to get up now with my school bag and my bottle of water and my shit jacket and squeeze my way out I will fucking die. The old guy will probably see me, stand up and say I knew he was skipping in, get him fella’s, and all these posh twats will turn their noses up at me or bite their thumbs at me or something. But they close the door and I’m safe. The shows good but I don’t have a clue what is happening. We head for pizza after and then she gets the tube while I opt for the bus. At least I won’t have to walk up that hill.

 

Wednesday

 

Battery on phone died, had meant to get up at 9.30 but ended up getting up at 12 again for the how manyth time in a row. Not good. Check phone, no text from anyone. What the craic am I going to do today then? Might as well just try finish my book before I head off for the weekend. No milk, can’t even get breakfast.

 

I turn on her laptop and my hotspot, need to sort out the electricity bill before we get our electricity cut off. I tried to set up an account but it just wouldn’t work so I’ve been mailing some guy in India for the last week or so. Last time he mailed he says the screen shot I sent him wasn’t a jpeg so send it again. I check and it is a jpeg. I mail him saying it is and paste it into the mail too, cant do anything else for you. Check my account balance, still nothing from the job centre from 5 months ago and I’m down to £120. Rent is up in 8 days, need £260, will be getting about £130 tomorrow and then nothing for another 2 weeks. If I don’t spend a penny in the next week I might be able to scrape it together with a bit from my Irish account. I check say no to 0870 for the job centre phone number and ring a few but none of them are the one I want.

 

She checks the fridge and sees the milk situation, I ask her can she get some cause my legs are fucked plus I’m only here for 2 more breakfasts. She comes back with some great unbelievable news. Down in co-op they are selling 36 packs of weetabix for £1.50 or something. It’s a 24 pack with 50% free (a 36) and its half price she says but for some reason she only got one pack. A 24 pack for £2 was the benchmark but now its rare you get it for anything less than £2.14 so if you see it for £2 you buy it. If you see a 36 pack for less than £3 or a 48 pack for less than £4 then you stock up.

 

I thought I had one last pair of boxers but I’m all out so its commando for today, doesn’t matter anyway cause I wont be going anywhere except down to co-op and I suppose to tesco to buy a tent before I leave it too late. After my most recent move I threw out all my tighty boxers and now I’ve no emergency pairs. I’m literally down to 8 pairs including one that just the other week I ripped right down the front. Before we head out I go downstairs to put on a wash. On the way back just before I get to the lift I get a call. Its some guy who I cant really understand so I assume its one of them numbers I called on say no to 0870 so I say did you get a missed call off me and he says no I’m calling about the tailoring job and I’m thinking could it be one of the guys from yesterday already then he says from ­­­______street, new guy told me about you. Holy shit it’s him, this is the one I’ve been waiting for.

---Do you want to come in for a trial then we’ll see what you can do and decide to take you on.

---Yes.

---Can you do this Friday?

---No I can do tomorrow before 3 then I have to go away to work for the weekend.

---Ok I’ll ring you Monday and we’ll see.

 

Walk in the door, it’s a miracle. Mood is instantly through the roof.

---This tailor I called into like 2 months ago just rang me. What if I was in the lift? What if I didn’t bring my phone down and ignored the missed call? I cant believe it.

---Oh don’t think too much about this as the only one.

---You mean put all my eggs in one basket? I always put all my eggs in the one basket.

---Ha in Germany we say somethin’ like put all your bets on…somethin’.

 

I put on swan lake on my ipod, the thoughts in my head start racing. Fuck I need somewhere to practice. I get out my tailoring folder, look at a double jetted pocket, point at it, I need to learn this one again, where I am going to practice before Monday? I call a friend but there’s some weird noise, she works in the basement so that must be it. She said I could come in and work there any time though. If I could get to hers and just practice that a few times I’ll be sweet. Fuck why did I say I’d do that casting, its just going to be way more pressure than I need. I ring tailor friend, does he have a machine at home to practice? No answer. We go to head out, ---why am I going out, I should be staying here in case I get through to someone so I can head there rather than going down and having to come back up to get stuff.

---Take your sewing stuff with you.

I shove a load of random bits of fabric in my bag and walk out the door. I get a call from tailor friend on the stairs. Going downstairs is the worst on my calves, I’m like a cow or a calf, its ridiculous. ---Hows it going? I’m alright how are you? We get cut off.

 

We stop into co-op and see the weetabix was too good to be true. Its £2.50, she was looking at the label from the cornflakes on the shelf above. Never mind though that’s still a good price for a 36 pack and there’s plenty there, will stock up on the way home. We pass the fridge store but I’ll get to him on the way back. Get to the dole office, ring the benefits centre again for the 10^th time in the last few months. Tell them the same old spiel, he says they will ring me today or tomorrow, just like the woman said last week. I head out, not as pissed off as I usually am. Go into tesco, there’s a tesco tent for £11 or a branded one for £25. Tempted to go for the tesco one to save on cash but it doesn’t have any waterproof rating so I go for the other one and head back home. Maybe I’ll go to other friend’s house tonight and see if she’ll let me use her sewing machine again even though I broke the pedal the last time (not my fault.) I could cycle there, might not be so bad on my legs.

 

How many boxes of weetabix will I get? 4? 5? If I wasn’t so broke I would be stocking up but then again I still have a full 48 pack from the last time I stocked up in tesco. I’ll just get 2 boxes to be on the safe side in case I have to move out before they’re eaten. Just before I get to co-op the fridge store is in my sights. We bought a shitty little one there for £45 but the freezer part doesn’t work well enough so I’ve been into him a few times. The first time he started to say “well in this weather…” before I stopped him right there. You can’t blame the heat for a fridge not working you absolute chancer. He said come back in a day or two cause he’s no one with him today. I called the next day and his buddy answers. I tell him the story but we get cut off so I text him the address. Cleary I get ignored cause no fridge arrives. A few days later I call in again and he jumps when he sees me. Then he says ---he has one right there for me out the back, the woman should be in to clean it tomorrow then he can drop it up to me.

---Are you sure you don’t want my phone number this time?

---Nah I have a key, I’ll just leave it outside your door if you’re not there.

 

I stayed in all day and no fridge arrived. Why the fuck does he have a key to the building? Obviously he cut a deal and took all the fridges before we moved in and now he’s selling them on to us, what a rip. So today I’m walking up the street and he steps off the back of a van, sees me, looks alarmed, points at me and remembers. Then he says I’ll drop it right up and I’ll give you this one here, its usually £75 but because we messed you around you can have it. You’ll have to clean it yourself though cause the woman still hasn’t come in. I get my weetabix and head home. Its half 5 and still no sign so I give him a call. Doesn’t answer. I get a text from the casting agency, I wasn’t selected for it, grand so. He calls and is just outside. Bring in the new fridge, move the old one to the side to keep our stuff fresh til the gases settle but the new one is taller and is getting obstructed by a cupboard on the right hand side. Guy says just knock a piece of wood on the floor out of the way and it will fit right in and leaves quickly. I say does he want the old one, nah just give it to one of your mates. I go back in and it is not fitting, everything will be on a slight slope or rolling and it’s going to look ridiculous. Big freezer though, high time I got back to the fish market. When I get around to plugging it in it turns out the freezer door doesn’t close properly.

 

Thursday

 

I read the time wrong and miss the bus down to the festival so have to fork out for my own. On the way I read all about the East London tailors and it looks fucking deadly. All my eggs are now in its basket. I get an email - lets meet on Wednesday for a chat. Lets.

 

The problem with working festivals is for 3 days work you have to commit 5 days and you’re not exactly guaranteed a full days work. I ended up working 3 festivals in August which is half the month gone for feck all money really. Another problem is it’s a bit first day of school vibe trying to make new friends which I’m not that great at if my memory serves me correctly. This problem is compounded by the fact that everyone there is 7-10 years younger than me and there to get totally smashed whereas I’m there because I’m totally smashed.

 

The first evening they were handing out microwave meals from a little portacabin. I was in line for a soup kitchen basically. There were 2 microwaves and about 30 people which wouldn’t have been too bad but for the fact the meals were frozen so took about 10 minutes to heat up. Luckily I was at the front of the queue so wasn’t waiting too long. After I left it started raining so people were in the queue for up to an hour in the rain for a luke warm gloopy Asda microwave meal and the news that that is the best they were to expect for the rest of the weekend.

 

I got landed in a half nerdy half sound group at first. The voice of the group was an 18 year old girl who just loved working and talking about working, so sad to see in someone so young. Everyone except me started drinking cause I was late and missed the walk down to Asda. We joined up with a bigger group of people but when I went to sit down I couldn’t really get in the circle. They were the Earth and I was the moon. I mooched around a bit but still couldn’t squeeze in so went around to the far side and sat between a couple of people I hadn’t met yet. I’m not all that great on sober first impressions so after a few minutes I got up and headed for Asda. If I was going to survive this weekend I was going to have to get drunk. New problem: all the money you make on festival weekends is spent on real food so you don’t get scurvy and cans so people seem more interesting.

 

It was a good 40 minute walk to Asda. On the way I passed a guy who was absolutely wasted carrying two bags of booze that were ready to burst. He managed to point me in the right direction though. Somehow they served him as much as he could carry even though he could barely carry himself, yet they wouldn’t serve me cause I had no I.D. What an absolute disaster. I wandered home slowly, made a couple of phone calls and went back to my tent for the earliest night I’ve had in my life.

 

Friday

 

Next day I got on well with a sounder group of lads. It was an electronic festival which they were all into, so they went in and got properly fucked and had plenty of stories to tell. Turned out to be a cracker of a weekend which was great for everyone except one of the lads on the 8pm to 8am shift who had to sit in his tent baking for most of the day while everyone else was working. He managed to have a few scoops behind the bar and asked to get off early and they went out on the mega sesh. My bar wasn’t that much craic. Down one end there was 4 giggling girls, 3 of them had braces, but they weren’t the early 20’s life decision braces, they were still the early teens mammy made me get them braces. God I’m old. The trick is to do as little work as possible. Each day I would try to go longer than the day before without serving a customer. I got up to 6 hours. Annoying workaholic girl kept telling me what to do, I did my best to ignore her. Worked till 3 or 4am and was fresh enough in the morning.

 

Saturday/Sunday

 

I was reading my Tour de France book when one of the lads came in dying that afternoon.

---Are you still reading that Tour de France book?

I’d only known the guy a day, either he’s a really fast reader or still reads books with pictures in them. Then I noticed I was the only person reading all weekend. If they found out my age and that I went for a run that morning I’d be treated like a leper. He did have some great stories though about a guy on his bar who was doing even less work than me. On that bar there was a line of people serving customers and then a line of people on tills. He stood alongside a till, neither serving customers nor operating the till. As it got real late they closed sections of the bar by pulling curtains from both sides. He used to stand behind the curtain looking directly at it, legend.

 

Saturday night the 8 till 8 guy was dying so bad that he had to leave work after 2 hours. Sunday it was the last night so he only got a few hours, still he considers it a result of a weekend. On Sunday our lunch was left on a crate out in the sun all day. I opted for a cheese sandwich to be on the safe side. Afterwards I noticed it was out of date, what if I’d had tuna? Gone off sambo’s in the sun, this really is the worst company in the world.

 

Monday/Tuesday

 

No call back Monday. Tuesday I’m in town and meet up with tailor friend, haven’t seen him in ages. I show him my trousers and get some inside info about the meeting I have with the East London tailors. On the way to the train home we pass by ______ street so I knock into the one I’ve been waiting for to ask him can I come in for a trial tomorrow.

He says ---ok come in.

I say ---what time?

He says ---anytime.

I say are ---you sure?

He says ---anytime. Its 6pm so by that logic 6pm tomorrow would be an ok time to come in.

 

We get to Charing Cross and the trains are all fucked so we go for a drink. With what money? After a few drinks a few more and a dinner waiting on the table in his house sounds like a good idea to me. After dinner it’s a bit late for me to head home so I decide to stay over. Then the cornetto’s come out, what a great day. Unfortunately I drop some chocolate on my only shirt but don’t realize till much later. Not to worry he has a very similar shirt he can give me to wear for tomorrow.

 

I go into the East London tailors first thing. At first its just a chat. I kind of would have preferred an interview but I’m not in the right industry for that kind of thing anymore so I’m not really sure what to make of it. It goes well though. Then the current in-house trouser maker comes down for more chat. She’s really nice and really likes my trousers but I’m probably not chatty enough and don’t really elaborate on my answers enough.

She says, ---I just want to make sure is tailoring definitely what you want to do?

---Yes I definitely do

---But we want to make sure the person we pick is passionate about tailoring, are you passionate about tailoring?

---Yes I’m passionate about tailoring.

 

I go home and get changed and head to West London for 2pm thinking after lunch is a nice time. He kicks up a fuss.

---Why are you here so late?

---You said anytime.

---No we start here very early in the morning, it is too late.

---But you said anytime.

 

If that was finance you’d walk away but its tailoring where there is little to no unpaid jobs available so you take it. The first thing he asked me to do I didn’t do so well. The second thing I did do well. He’ll call me he says.

mirror art

 



 

The place we moved into was completely unfurnished and in a bit of a state. We painted everything white and vowed to paint pictures on the walls and stuff but so far all we've managed to do is smash a few mirrors and stick the pieces on the bathroom wall. I really like it, its like a reindeer or something.

new workshop