Killing that character was the best thing I ever did. I finished the second draft tonight and it is much better. It will get better still, if the fates give me the opportunity, but if nothing else this experience proves that abortion is a brilliant thing. Personally I think we should make it compulsory.
I have been slowly working my way through the bin liners full of my youth that I took from my parents' attic. The last thing I looked at was a file of letters that I had received in the first year or so of University. This was a pre email world and I had correspondences with quite a few people (mainly school friends and people I had met in my year off or in Edinburgh). As I am finding with this personal archeology it has been a bitter sweet experience to trawl through a largely forgotten past. It was clear that I was lonely and very insecure, especially in the first year, anxious about making friends and clueless about life and the opposite sex. It is laughable, regrettable, sweet and sad in almost equal measure. And even though it's a one sided conversation (as I don't have copies of the letters I was sending) it's pretty easy to see the kind of things I was writing and the way I was feeling from people's replies. Understandly I still had strong feelings for my first girlfriend from school, even though we had broken up some months ago and her support and affection are quite lovely, though my increasing suspicions that she might have met someone else are finally confirmed. She does tell me to stick at everything so that she can tell her children she knew me when I am famous. She has children now, though I am not sure I have achieved the notoriety required for her to tell them much about me. Most of my achievements are not what you would call child friendly (in fact at times I have been actively opposed to the tiny idiots - I have at least pretended to be a paedophobe. And that's not something you want to brag about, because some people just need to hear the paedo bit before they start lashing out at you).
I also found a sweet letter from the girl I mentioned
in this entry, which made it more than clear that I had blown a definite snog, through being overly keen and demonstrative. Though she praises me for the eloquence of whatever love missive I had sent to her to elicit this response, it is clear that it sent her running for the hills. What a shame that I can only look back with regret, though I also have a fondness for the forthright young man, who wanted to believe in love. But I would prefer he'd been a bit more worldly, because it would be much nicer to have memories of snogging that lovely young woman, rather than freaking her out and turning a sure thing into total rejection. You have to laugh. Life is great.
My University notes were bagged up in Tesco's plastic carriers. I put the notes in a box - I might as well throw them away, I am never going to read those essays again and they are of no use to anyone, but I'll leave it for someone else to dispose of, once I am dead. I used one of the plastic bags to line the bin by my computer and today it was full, so I took it out to throw away. It was only once I'd done that that I realised that the bag was a couple of decades old and might be seen as an historical artifact for some people. Obviously the design is quite different to the bags that Tesco currently has and I wondered how many 20 year old plastic bags survive (outside of landfills, where they will stay undegraded for tens of thousands of years). Maybe I should be sending this unusually pristine piece of memorabilia to a collector or Plastic Bag World or something. In the end I guessed that it wouldn't be of much use to anyone and so left it outside. But strange to have something so mundane becoming every so slightly special, just by hanging around for long enough. Maybe me and the bag have something in common.
I still have a dinner plate that I nicked from my college over 20 years ago. Even though I didn't really like my college (
St Catherine's, Oxford if you care), I love this plate. It's good quality and thick and I like the fact that it has been with me for two decades (and who knows how long it had been in service before that). Again, without coming over all Marcel Proust (who I mainly only know about through Monty Python sketches, so don't think I am trying to be too clever) the most mundane things can have the most significance. I fear the day I drop and break this plate that has stayed with me for so long and signifies something - although I am not exactly sure what. Though it's sturdy enough, I think, to survive most minor mishaps. The plate means more to me than the college itself. As long as no-one was killed I would be mildly amused if St Catz burned to the ground, yet I would be genuinely upset if the St Catz plate were to drop on to my stone kitchen floor and smash. How can that be?
Anyway, I am sitting writing this in the airport waiting to fly to Belfast and my plane is about to leave, so I'll have to let you come up with your own answers to those questions. I am doing one of the final "Oh Fuck, I'm 40"s in Belfast on Thursday and then will be doing stand up at The Stand in Edinburgh on Friday and Saturday. So maybe see some of you at one or other of those!
And I've got another offer, especially for you, if you want to come to the Lyric Hammersmith gig this weekend to see Sean Hughes, Pappy's Fun Club, Wil Hodgson, Holly Walsh and me. Simply ring 0871 22 117 29 and quote "Richard's Blog" and get the best seats (usually £15) for just £10. You will be so close to the stage you will almost be able to touch me with one of your hands. Please support this club and pass on this information to anyone you think might be interested. Thanks.
