Life has got in the way of my antisocial musings of late, due to birthdays (mine) and a sort of blanket social mania brought on by a couple of warm, summer days (everyone else's). In fact, it's been so busy, I've been going to bed late at night, having drunkenly scoured Facebook, and woken up early enough for nothing in particular to have changed on that social networking site. That's right. I am socialising in line with the rest of the world, how NOVEL!
Speaking of which, my poor novel meanwhile languishes in neglect. Written elaborately by hand across 7 books of lined paper, desperate for some re-writing and typing up into some sort of legible format - it is my soul's project, my reckoning, and ultimately less attractive a pursuit than getting drunk in cocktail bars with sexy boys.
But hey, that's what winter's for isn't it? Summer is for revelling in the outdoors and not being at home. I'm now the proud parader of a pretty little garden - shared with the 4 other flats in this big victorian house and yet used by only me, and last Sunday's party guests. I'm sitting in it now, amongst a bee-hassled lavender. My favourite part of every morning is drawing back the curtains to look outside at which flowers have burst into bloom, the tidiness of my lawn (I should give my sister her flymo back but I LOVE it) and the sweet little bird table in the middle. Here's a picture of something that appeared in just 24 hours of sunshine yesterday...
I've worked hard on this garden and it's paid off. Yes, this is what makes me happy, aged 27, and what's more I'm not particularly embarrassed by it.
Having said that, I have experienced some acute adolescent-style embarrassment this week, as I tumble all over the place as this sleep-deprived super-social wreck. Last night it was up a North London escalator (sober and no, nobody helped me. It's NORTH London) Additionally, I'm dating a spectacularly clever and sexy man who took me for dinner one night, where I discovered I had forgotten how to eat, drink and hold a conversation in any kind of tidy pattern. Luckily, there was wine, and this has been the great enabler in ensuring I do not stop mid-conversation just to look at him and think, 'whuh?'. Which I have been doing. It's nice to be inhibited again. But what I've realised is that I'm not the only one.
When he told me he was nervous, I realised how much of my dating style is basically 'waffle around and make them laugh, but essentially wait for them to take the lead'. This is both a little pathetic on my part, and made me realise that I'd just assumed the guy always knows what he's doing. Especially when he's that hot. But then I think this applies to many we consider our better. Whether they're more attractive, smart, rich, older or perhaps... more masculine, which is worrying. I know my automatic reaction, when someone has the upper hand, is to assume the have infinite knowledge and confidence.
I've greatly enjoyed the Olympic fever and rampant heroism attributed to British athletes in the past few weeks. We've come together, lived and revelled in the unifying influence of these games upon us. We are all equals in this. None of us understand what the rules of handball are, and we are in it together, just watching and not understanding... passionately. On the other hand of course, are the heroes. So inspiring that there genuinely is no need to concern yourself with being super-human, for Jess Ennis and the lot have it covered. I've particularly enjoyed the bus stop posters plastered around London, advertising Adidas sportswear and displaying our champions in ripped, gracious triumph. As a runner on the streets of London I've basically been pretending each is a mirror as I pass. It makes me run a little faster, honestly.
My other recent London travel experiment has been cycling. As I have previously noted I don't have the coordination for (INSERT ANYTHING) and as a result have been using the pavements between Sydenham and Grove Park in attempts to avoid the bus and still visit my sister. Nobody seems to mind much, although the guilt of this calculated law-breaking is quite palpable. I'm constantly surprised by the Sydenham pedestrian's willingness to smile and get out of my way. It's their right of way, I shouldn't be cycling there, but hey, the sun's shining. The finest moment, however, was when I scooted past the heavy traffic up Chinbrook Road and passed a police car. Oh the thrill, the tension of such flagrant law-breaking! Is this really how I get my kicks? Yes, yes it is. There was no hot pursuit, no strongly-worded reprimand. They didn't even batt an eyelid. I will do it again. And I will wear a helmet, because... safety first and all that.
But back to the Olympians one more time and briefly, as I don't want to add the mulch of empty personal opinions on this national event when there is plenty of intelligent commentary out there. What gets me most about being so inspired is firstly that you are actually surprised to be inspired. I for one really didn't expect to be genuinely moved by any of this business, and yet for the first time in a few months I've actually been bothered to do press-ups, run fast and genuinely look after myself in a structured way. Such is the influence of positive role models. I guess it really does work. I guess it also helps that I'm trying to get laid, and one must be in shape for such things, by the way. But what struck me as most significant about all these inspired people I meet, is that suddenly, after all this anticipation, they own their own futures. 2012 spent a long time coming, and it's here now. Just as the 80s was the 80s back then and now it's a reminiscence weekend on my radio station. I'm struggling to find a way of expressing that feeling again, that the future is now, right now for the taking, and you shouldn't faff about waiting to live it. I think big events make everyone question that, don't they? Everyone feels like they've got an opportunity to be a piece of history, or a line in a textbook when something big happens, and they want to have a story or a memory, or something special to mark it to themselves, and to make their own mark. There's an anxiety behind it - don't forget me, don't leave me behind here. Let me be a part of it.
And yet for the most part it is easy to be distracted, misdirected, or unfulfilled, for London 2012 was made for us, not by us. We all need a sense of purpose, a project - be that a person, an object, something creative, or something practical, and we need to believe in it. We've all got to make our mark.
So if future is now, what on earth are we to do with it?
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