42 Procrastinations

Jim Mowatt asked me to write a short piece for the special ZZ9 zine to be distributed at Novacon. Unfortunately I have a report to write. Urgently. While considering the dilemma I contemplated my procrastination options:

1.     I must just check my work email

2.     I need a mug of tea

3.     Did I clean my teeth? I’ll just pop up and do that now

4.     Look at the state of the carpet – I’ll feel more comfortable if I vac it (I know I don’t usually care but…)

5.     Perhaps I should set the training days for next year

6.     Before I do that I need to put bank holidays in my diary

7.     And school holidays – mustn’t clash with those

8.     I’d better call Gareth to check he’s happy with the dates

9.     Now I’ve got Safari open I’ll just check my Yahoo! Account

10.  Hurricane in Jamaica, selling virginity for $780,000 – I’ll have a quick look. It might come up in conversation

11.  It won’t take long to check my demon account

12.  And my gmail

13.  Both of them

14.  And perhaps I’d better check my demon account on line – odd things haven’t been coming through

15.  I’d better finish the Humber Energy audit report and send it now it’s been proofed

16.  I’ll just do the purl row of my knitting so I’m ready to increase on the next row

17.  But what if I forget it’s an increase row? I’ll do the increase knit row

18.  Time for another mug of tea

19.  I’ll do the dishes while I’m in the kitchen

20.  I’d better set an alarm for my meeting with Jess this afternoon

21.  I’ll sort my expenses for September

22.  And check the thesaurus for synonyms for procrastinate

23.  Is ‘synonym’ the right word? I’ll check my dictionary

24.  I’ll have a quick look at my ‘To Do’ list. Maybe spend ten minutes tweaking the order.

25.  I’ll just give Darren a quick call – doesn’t do to forget the marketing

26.  And email Edward James about Novacon

27.  And Dave Hicks

28.  Oops. Time for a pee. All that tea

29.  I’ll clean the sink while I’m here

30.  I should move the books from the chair back onto the shelves

31.  And at least put the ‘A’s in order

32.  And the ‘B’s

33.  Whilst I’m up I’d best put the wine bottle in the recycling bin

34.  And put the bin out – I know the collection’s not until Monday but I don’t want to miss it

35.  There’s a helicoptor!

36.  I haven’t watered this plant for ages, poor thing

37.  Time to pop down to see Jess

38.  Whilst I’m here I’ll wander down Sharrow Vale and pick up a loaf of bread

39.  I wonder whether they’ve got any nice fruit at Sharrow Marrow

40.  Just before I start the report I must make a mug of tea

41.  Maybe I’ll write Jim’s piece

42.  I’ll check his email again

Cripes! It’s only supposed to be a hundred words. It could take me days to edit it down. And bloody hell! The deadline was three days ago…

I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.

Where I am

Oh, so long since I wrote anything. In fact, I’m only finding the time now because I’m on a train to Maidenhead and I didn’t download work documents from the cloud to my computer.  Connectivity on this particular train line is rubbish for Orange. Of course, I could be reading a book about Mars in preparation for Satellite 3 or thinking up jokes for the show at Eastercon. Or knitting. Or just sleeping.

Things are a bit anxiety inducing at the moment. For a few months in the lead up to Christmas we knew, in my lovely team at work, that work was too scarce to support three people. The directors wanted to make one of us redundant. We weren’t keen. As you may imagine. We had a number of out of hours meetings and thrashed our options out. Our strategy was to continue to work hard to find more work, for us each to apply for jobs so that one of us could move to a secure company and, in the meantime, for us all to go down to a three and a half day week. As I was only working four days anyway it wasn’t a huge hit for me but Catherine and Alison would take a fairly hefty pay cut. 

I applied for a job. So did my colleagues. After my interview the very nice man noted that I didn’t seem to have had much recent experience with interviews. Nope, not for five years. I consoled myself with the thought that no-one gets a job from their first interview. Then both Catherine and Alison did. Excellent! From the end of January we went down from three people doing work sufficient for two people to one person doing work sufficient for two people. Actually maybe a little less than two as there always tends to be a tailing off of work as the end of the financial year approaches. Still, quite a lot of work. I’m around 155% utilised and only the fact that it takes a while for the security check to be done for one of our contracts saves it from being higher. 

One of the suggestions I had made when we were looking at our options was to go independent. As a three person consultancy our overhead costs would be very much lower, it would be easier to find work at a lower day rate and we would be able to work on our own terms. Lovely idea, my colleagues thought, if Alison’s husband’s business had been launched already and was bringing in lots of money and Catherine wasn’t still paying off a student loan and planning a (v. expensive) holiday of a lifetime in Japan. Once they’d both captured lucrative jobs and heartlessly abandoned me I thought about it for a bit and decided that the possibility of independence as a sole trader might still be worth thinking about.

I didn’t want to cut all ties (and my throat) with my current company. I’d have to build a client base from nothing, contractually I’m not allowed to poach my clients, and it would leave them with no-one to fulfill the contracts on the books. I spoke to the MD and we agreed that we would recruit a senior consultant and I would work, with a one year contract, as a sub-contractor for the company. A number of people within the company have wondered why, given that most of my work will continue to be with the company, branded as theirs, why I want to make this move. Mostly it’s to find a bit of freedom. The idea is that, on the days when I have no scheduled work, I can spend the day on the allotment or wander into town or whatever I fancy. If I end up doing the amount of work that I’m doing at the moment I will earn lots more money, if I don’t bring in enough work I live on potatoes and kale and turn the heating off. The risks are higher but so are the payoffs. And some days I can just goof off without guilt. I can work when I’m at my best, afternoon and early evening, and I can spend the time I think is necessary to prepare for a course without being told to 'leave it now, it's good enough'.

Of course, whilst all this is going on I have become treasurer of the Sheffield Allotment Federation, I’ve agreed to work with Dave Hicks on programme for Novacon, I’m supposed to be reading about Mars for a programme item at Satellite and I really need to maintain some relationships outside of work. Occasionally I need to sleep and at least once a week I need to cook. Oh yes, and if I don’t have at least 75% of my allotment under cultivation they will take it off me.

Hence the lack of blog postings. I haven’t even written up the three books I’ve read over the last four months. I’ll have to turn in my Bookworm Badge. And yet, through the exhaustion, I feel the tingling of a mild excitement at the freedom. And the insecurity.

Hiatus

So much to do so little time. This weekend was Veggie Night at FFW (awesome), Ian's birthday, Mothering Sunday, and the weekend I had put aside to try to pull Journey Planet into shape. Oh dear.
I met the Leader of Sheffield Council, Paul Scriven, at FFW and was rather taken with him. As the leader I have always liked the way he, or his minions, deal with letters and emails. It's nice to know that he's someone I'd be happy to have dinner with. He even laughed at Ian's jokes.

My lovely and accommodating sister, Sue, and her husband, Robin, drove me to the new allotment for a look round then took me to Galaxy 4 to buy a remote control Dalek for Ian. I'd decided what to buy weeks ago but didn't want to carry it home on foot and I'm far too tight to pay for a taxi. What do you buy for the man who has everything he wants and needs? As it turns out, a T-shirt from Questionable Content, an Atlas of Remote Islands and a Dalek.


This weekend was payday and the beginning of my new year's budget. Ow! It was the weekend we ate every lunch out, it was the weekend we found that Rita Rudner was playing in London in July and it was the weekend I looked through all the Margaret Mahy pages on Amazon. It was an expensive weekend.


There will be more words when Journey Planet goes away.

Excuses, excuses...

No blogging available due to the new Tiffany Aching novel, 'I Shall Wear Midnight' and because yesterday's 'Made in Dagenham' and 'Single Father' both made me weep and I ended up with a miserable headache, and yes, and before that, 'Case and the Dreamer', the last of the Theodore Sturgeon collected stories. Later.

Catching up...

It has been a tradition, over the last half dozen years, to write introductions to my fanzines which presented various perfectly reasonable excuses for the lateness of publication and, indeed, I have a fair number of archived introductions that were superseded long before the final publication dates. I'd sort of expected not to do this on a blog because there's always time to write a couple of lines. Well yes. However, as a 2nd Dan Procrastinator, I can still find myself way behind with my exciting life, as demonstrated by my finally posting the last day of the Fringe report a good fortnight after the event. One of the reasons is pressure of work, the other is that I've been reading a book that seems to require some comment but I'm not clever enough to write anything cogent. The book I've been struggling with is 'Prosperity Without Growth' by Tim Leggett of the Sustainable Development Commission. I have vaguely wondered whether this book is one of the reasons that the Commission, against all good sense, is being disbanded. Certainly working within the business community I find that the idea that we should reconsider our desire for growth and replace it with some type of steady state economics is heresy that must never be uttered. I've finished reading the book and intend to re-read it and make notes. There may be some cogent comments in the future. Don't hold your breath.


In the meantime, life has been full of excitement! I finally met Catherine's new chap, Martin, who seems to justify Sally's contention that he's a really nice guy. Which is, of course, a Very Good Thing.


(I should just note that as I write this Ian has gone from playing jolly Cliff Richard teenpop of the fifties and sixties to Del Amitri's angstrock of the naughties. I Del Amitri.)


So work has moved into the heavy training timetable of Autumn. This is good in many ways. I like training very much as long as I know what I'm talking about. Unlike Ian I can't hold forth about subjects I'm totally ignorant of. Preparation is essential. But what I find I like is the pleasure of connecting with lovely people (not had a real grump for at least a year now) and the true joy of not having to write a report the day after. Last week I had a day in North Wales with a Welsh speaking civil engineering company (it's a long way from the middle of Anglesey by train), an extremely interesting day at the Building Research Establishment in Watford listening to how we should deal with refurbishing our decaying building stock, and a morning in Kettering. The week before was Bradford. Next week three days within easy travelling distance of Sheffield; Derby, Leeds and Bradford. I'm not bored.


(Dolly Parton now. 9 to 5 has given way to Stairway to Heaven...Um.)


More importantly, I've had a couple of fun weekends. Last weekend we saw the Moody Blues and Toy Story 3. Both of them gave a rather melancholy insight to the passage of time. Toy Story was rather more uplifting than the Moodies. This is what I scribbled immediately afterwards:

'Oh waily, waily, waily. We went to see the Moody Blues Sunday night and, as usual, it was pretty fab. Question was the first LP I bought and, though I’m not a musical afficianado, and have no real musical appreciation, I still like the Moodys lots. I had one of those evenings, though, when I felt strangely sad. One reason was because they stupidly projected photographs and videos from when whichever song they were playing was first produced. Also, some of the songs are terribly idealistic; eco-warriorish in many ways. It made me feel very old indeed and, unlike Graham Edge, I’m not 69. The average age of the audience was possibly not below 40 and we were all jolly comfortable. Possibly due to the padding we all carried with us.'

(Now we are listening to David Mitchell's Soap Box followed by Old Jews Telling Jokes.)

This weekend we went to see Barenaked Ladies and Scott Pilgrim versus the World. And we called in to see Margaret, Ian's ex-wife. All I can say, with jewish humour echoing in my ears, is that all these activities were hugely fun. Perhaps the best part of the gig was that Boothby Graffoe was the first support act. I'm particularly fond of Boothby and his animal friends and have missed seeing him at the Fringe. It was a joy to find him so unexpectedly accompanying, and accompanied by on the later songs, the Ladies. I bought one of his CDs. The BNLs were also jolly good but by that time the Manchester Apollo's seats were making me uncomfortable and my feet were twitchy. It is a tribute to their showmanship that I enjoyed them as much as I did. Fab!


I'm sort of thinking that our globetrotting friends will be back from Australia, getting over the jetlag and putting their photoalbums in order. I hope so. Is there anyone out there? 


  

The last of the Fringe - just for completeness

It feels like months since we came back from Edinburgh and I still haven’t written about the final day. So here we are.

We only had two shows on the last day and decided not to add any more so that I could have a quick meeting with my friend, June Strachan, and catch up on life & stuff.  Ian drove us into Edinburgh where we eventually found somewhere to park near the Stand and we headed for the Conan Doyle pub for a pint and a gossip. I’d never been in before and won’t be going in again. Ian and the kids started pilfering chairs from throughout the pub to give us enough seating around the one empty table whilst June and I went to the bar to order drinks. We’d got a pint of lager shandy for Ian, a pint of lager Jack and a glass of red wine for June before the barman started grumbling about needing proof of age from the kids. I gathered Jack’s student card which was deemed sufficient but Callum’s railcard, despite having his age and needing proof of age to purchase was not good enough. Sally didn’t have any identification at all. They only wanted soft drinks so I didn’t think it would be a problem but, no, apparently their young person cooties would affect the pub. I was very cross. Why was it so important to have documentation when our 18 year olds were accompanied by three obviously older responsible people? Why serve us at all without checking our compliance with their requirements? June handed her untouched glass back but we had to pay for the lager-based drinks, not least because Ian and Jack had necked them quite quickly. June and I stalked off to the Stand to get our drinks there with the kids. Ian and Jack followed shortly. Apparently the kids are allowed to exist there with their soft drinks.

Because of the faffing we were somewhat late in heading for the Stand. I find this a really uncomfortable venue but I wanted to see Stewart Lee so Ian and I scurried off with a bit of time to queue in the hopes of getting a seat with a back. There were about 3 left, scattered around the room so we sat apart. Five minutes before the start the kids were still not there. Already grumpy, I went and found them hovering outside, and heartlessly abandoned them to stand throughout the show. Unlike me, they bend, so they sat on the floor and I sat and huffed.

Luckily Stewart Lee was excellent. We have seen a lot of good comics this year but there was a certain amount of sameness about them. They were all talking about themselves and what they’d done. There’s nothing wrong with this. They were all worth seeing. And likeable. And safe. My only point in mentioning this is that Stewart Lee did not do that stuff. Stewart does something completely different. He tells stories. Recursive stories that draw you in, make you think, sharpens your perceptions. It’s not always comfortable. Not always likeable. Not all of it is funny although most is. What it is, is thought provoking and terribly interesting.  

My very favourite part was at the end when He reminisced about his contact with David Cameron, our new and deeply privileged Prime Minister. The story was deep and true and, as Andy Zaltzman catchphrases often, ‘OK, it’s not true but [his] point stands’.

Stewart Lee is performing in Grin Up North is Sheffield this October. He is booked into the Oval Hall, which is vast. I’d be interested to see whether it is possible to take this intimate little show into such a space.

The final act of the night and the fringe for us was Chris Addison. I saw him long ago (relatively) the last time he performed at the Fringe and he was good and talked about very interesting things but not this polished or relaxed (in a hyper sort of way). This was a return to comics talking about themselves but, unlike Susan Calman, John Bishop or Mickey Flanagan, he spoke directly to me about being middle class. It is, of course, an easy target but so much fun. We have, as he noted, mainly sorted out our prejudices. We might not secretly believe immigrants or women or gays are acceptable but we never say this and can usually keep a tight lid on this stuff, even internally. Give us a woman in Ugg boots, though, and we feel quite justified in smugly despising her. I find myself doing this to over-teched people (apart from Ian of course), quietly judging them; why do you have to have an iPhone when you obviously can’t afford decent clothes for your child, and so on, I will think poisonously. I laughed and laughed, ashamed but tremendously amused at the nastiness in my soul that he revealed in his perfectly likeable routine about himself. I guess that unlike John Bishop who invited me to wonder how I would react to success, and hope that I would cope so well, Chris invited me to look at his faults, see my own reflected and think about my behaviour. Only comedy can really do this so successfully. 

And so we finished wearily and headed back to Ian’s and then later back home. Callum hadn’t like Stewart Lee but seemed to have enjoyed everything else. The rest of us had really pretty much liked everything. Apart from Stewart there hadn’t been any edgy stuff this year. Perhaps a bit more next year.