Reading

Chapter 4 - One For Sorrow, Two For Joy

So here we are in Reading en route for Birmingham. I'm not sure about this. I always thought Birmingham was up and Reading was west. Why we're going to Birmingham via Reading, I'm not entirely sure because, let's be honest, there are more important things to worry about. Like why I'm going to Birmingham. It's one of those things that make you wonder about that thing you worryingly call your career. It's one of those things that make you look back and question all those little crossroads you've encountered. "Should I become a Hollywood screenwriter or maybe a highly paid columnist who writes 800 words a week for some tax exile lump?" It's a fair question and sometimes I just wonder whether "No, thanks for asking but I'll continue to write about music for The Express" was the right answer. The doubt about the wisdom of this stance really sets in now. We've just reached somewhere called Didcot Parkway. I'm not sure I'd ever want to live somewhere called Didcot. It's a bit too Postman Pat. "Hello, Mrs Goggins. I'm off to Didcot Parkway. Can I get you anything?"
Birmingham. I don't know. I've just taken an office. (We’ve also taken a Saab estate with leather this and wooden that which is much more exciting but is, as you might say, off message). This is of no interest to you but I'm just saying it by way of, I don't know, a legal notification. You know the way people used to mail themselves a copy of a script or idea to prove when that it was theirs and that they'd thought of it first, so this is like that. This is modern mail. Anyway, I've rented this office and I'm going to sit there - no phone lines, no e-mail, no cocktail cabinet - and write a novel that's a not so much a work of fiction as a commentary on the modern world. An allegory. I'm going to look at - and this is inspired - the relationship between magpies and house sparrows. It's going to look at the rise of the magpie set against the decline of the sparrow. You remember the way that magpies were rare and exotic when we were kids and sparrows were everywhere? Well, the roles have reversed now, and - and this is fantastic - we can talk about nostalgia, maybe have a scene where the protagonists talk about how sparrows were better in their day. We can talk about the superficiality of contemporary society and ponder whether sparrows would have been more successful if they'd had that bluey-greeny-purpley bit. Could we have magpies, crows and seagulls cast as a modern Mafia. What do you reckon? It's not expensive, this office.
Almost got away with it. It must have been some subliminal impulse to escape. To not do it. But it was too much. I checked the ticket to see what time it started and, naturally, it didn't say. It said something like "Doors open at 6pm" like we'd all be rushing there extra early, for fear of missing even a minute of the treat. So no, there wasn’t a proper time mentioned. But it had a date. July 2. Now then. I'm an educated man. I know about these things. July 2 is a Tuesday and today can't be July 2 because today is a Wednesday. The gig was yesterday and I'm here today and yesterday was a Tuesday and today is a Wednesday. For a music critic - a man who reviews concerts for a living - this potentially is a problem. I could, I guess, get creative and no one - well, neither person who reads my music page - would know or care. But my mazel, something would happen at the gig and, of course, I wouldn't know about it because despite the 500 word review in the Mighty Express (4 stars, a fine show where he reaffirmed his position as blah blah) I was actually at home watching EastEnders on BBC Choice. If only I had genes like Colin Jackson I could hurdle this problem... What can I tell you? I got a ticket.