Have you ever heard of Freecycle? It’s a website where you post messages about stuff you no longer need but don’t want to just throw away … because they might be useful to someone else. It’s brilliant if – like me – you have the most awful habit of deciding you’ll have a crack at something for which you’re hopelessly under qualified – such as plastering a ceiling or rewiring a bedroom.
I mention the site because today I was getting rid of seven large sheets of plasterboard (slightly damaged) following an ill-thought-out way to disguise an artexed ceiling. I posted them online. Within hours they were snapped up, and the fellow who came to collect them was a chatty chap who was more than happy to spend awhile talking as I picked his brains on various home improvement projects. His advice on the whole was don’t bother, just paint it. It was only after he left that I realised I’d worked a flabby muscle. I’d been talking to someone I don’t already know for more than a minute. It was liberating, I tell you. Being able to talk about something with a stranger who has no skin in whatever mad game I have planned for 2022.
If you have anything cluttering up a room (or garage in this case), I highly recommend giving it away to a stranger. And maybe add you expect a decent conversation in exchange. Just to weed out time wasters.
Writing dialogue
Because I ought to bring all of this back to the subject of writing, it kind of makes sense that having these conversations matters. In days of yore, I sat on buses and trains, ears pricked for the type of chatter that could find its way into my pages. In each office I hotdesked, I tuned into people, hoping they’d share a story I could use. After all, I wrote a book about dialogue, and one big tip relates to listening in to those around you.
Sparkling dialogue
It worries me Covid is impeding conversation and communication. Sure, we can Zoom into anyone’s living room or home office, but the chats we have are often edited. The body language hidden. It’s hard to maintain eye contact when the eyes in question are three inches under your camera. I do wonder if the stories we write in the next few years will sound different because of this. I’m watching ‘Offspring’ on Netflix right now. I recommend it as total binge fodder. The dialogue sparkles and people are forever hugging, touching and being together. In a world where we’re lucky if we see families in the same room, will we lose that ability to write such believable words? And what are believable words, anyway?
I’m still unsure if the stories I write now ought to consider Covid. Should my characters wear masks? I’m opting for setting everything in 2018, but that limits some cultural references. The other option is to set them in the here and now and pretend it’s all normal, but then you lose the Zoom meetings or plastering your hands in alcoholic gel to enter Tesco.
I wonder how you’re all cooping with this?
Way back when, email was going to be the game changer. No longer would you need pen and paper, an envelope, a postage stamp and the services of the Post Office (other mail delivery services are available) to tell someone what you had for your lunch. Email was going to do it all for you. And faster. Often using fewer words. In 2021, I stopped reading almost every email sent my way. The only exception being my business email inbox, and even then, I stayed selective. 95% of emails addressed to me were deleted unread. We’ve got smart home security Every time it detects movement I get an email. Recently, I had sixty-seven emails about a spider.
One of my other dreadful habits is that I over-consume the news. I can’t sleep at night until I’ve checked at least three or four major news outlet websites. Twice. I have two settings: worried for the world and craving cheese. I realise this sort of reading means I’m setting myself up for a bad night with so much 
Below-the-line comments. Often found on newspaper websites, but also the same sort of content makes up 99.9% of Twitter. It’s like glimpsing the soiled underwear of a nation. These are people who lost their teeth to Mountain Dew. The Daily Mail website is like someone put Mein Kampf on shuffle. It’s the home of the stupid.
What better day to ditch perky Joe Wicks and his enormous fucking living room? When the world re-opens again, let’s agree to take taxis to air-conditioned office buildings. Ignore those obese fuckheads who claim to be government health experts with their warnings of how not walking up stairs will kill you. Take the lift. Spend eight full hours sitting and two full minutes ramming a three-pound Tesco meal deal into your mouth. At 5pm, summon an Uber and demand the driver take you to the nearest all-you-can-eat buffet. 90 minutes later, stricken with meat sweats, stumble to the nearest pub for more sitting. That’s how to do Monday.
You bought a box in 1983 after waking up in A&E and vowing to give up drink, drugs and crisps. After ten minutes of Anne Diamond’s ‘How I lost 4 stone‘ DVD, you lost the will to live and ate an entire trifle. In lockdown, with everyone raving about how they’ve rediscovered green tea, you gave it another go and remembered at once why you never bought it again – it tastes like dishwasher slurry. It’s time to re-embrace light brown tea and leave the folksy herbal shite to people who have sex in public toilets. Stop lying to yourself and have a custard cream.
Nobody bought banana bread before lockdown for a reason. It’s like the world’s most disappointing cake crossed with the world’s worst bread. And don’t get me started on sourdough. You’ve watched a Kilner jar of flour and water bubble and turn rancid green over the course of a month, and now you’re expected to eat something that contains the sludge? Why not go the whole hog and make raw chicken sandwiches?
