Friday, 6 July 2007

Guilty...

Caught between the rock of middle class aspiration and the hard place of working class pride, Monkey Pipe has spent the day drinking too much coffee and naval gazing with his nearest and dearest.

Perhaps it’s the reading of William Boyd’s Any Human Heart, a book that injects romance into the smuggest of biographies – leaving me dreaming of being alive in the 1920’s, about to attend the dreamy spires of Oxford, wealthy, intelligent and talking realistically about moving to Paris and living on a diet of cheese, bread, wine and prostitutes. The book, so far (I’m about 200 pages in), is one of those great books that says little in lots of small ways, but somehow leaves you feeling like you should recommend it to many people – oh, so and so would like that part, hey, such and such would appeal to thingy – sums of the whole that make it fun and connective.

Anyway, after a lazy day of breakfasting, coffee and dialogue about feeling trapped in a cognitive suppositional way to act out pre-programmed flaws, and talk of feeling broad shoulderedly working class but small headedly middle class, My best friend and I walked in to his place and found ourselves confronted with his cleaner.

The redistribution of wealth and the goodness of providing a wage to someone who provides a service aside, neither of us felt capable of facing that particular demon, unsure of the etiquette – does one shuffle from room to room, giving the cleaner a freehand in performing her duties? And so to the next coffee shop. Too much caffeine leaving us both tired.

I left him at a point when he thought it might be safe to return home, and arrived at Pipe Towers to discover that my own cleaner was at work – half way finished. My only option in the small flat that is home was to hide in the cleaned bedroom, laptop in hand. Trying hard not to look to casual in sitting on a bed and writing, attempting to look as hard at work as it is possible to do with a word document on a weekday in one’s own bedroom.

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