| London, December 2002 | home |
(23rd December 2002)
I am a poor diarist. I'm not sure which is poorer. My narrative style may be too flower, too dull, too indirect, or even just plain wrong. My selection of which details to relate may be too stingy or perhaps so overpoweringly comprehensive as to be unpalatable. Alternatively, it might be that my life is too dull to chronicle in this way. Probably one of the worst things about the times I choose to write a journal is the evil combination of my lack of consistency and my laziness. My inconsistency means that I'm sometimes writing as things happen or I'm sometimes writing a long time afterwards. If there is to be any direction to the narrative of earlier moment, any dramatic irony evening, it's best to write in retrospect. If there is to be clarity of detail, then it is best to write straight away. Note taking can help get the best of both worlds, but my laziness has kept certain notes as nothing beyond notes in the past.
The entirety of the story so far has been written today on the 23rd December. This is partly because I'm filled with the initial excitement and intent which suggest that keeping a diary of this trip will be interesting, and it's partly because I woke up this morning and found myself to be in London with no agenda.
Having no agenda in a city like London is both a great freedom and a huge burden. The freedom is obvious - no need to get frustrated by the trappings of the fast and furious scuttling of scurryings people often find themselves drawn to in one of the world's major cities. The burden of the situation is harder to explain. With so much that it is possible to do, how do you choose a course of action to kill your time and give you the most enjoyment?
I've had a taste of this experience before. The 14th December was such an event. I took a very early trip to London, leaving Newcastle at 4am, so I could attend a morning meeting and be free to meet someone for lunch, perhaps even catch a west-end matinee with them. Owing to circumstances beyond anyone's control, this person was indisposed and could not make the meeting - so I was in London with no agenda. Quick decision required on the only thing I had available to me in the way of a purpose - choose a west end show before discounted tickets become unavailable or shows have all started. Such a quick decision was made promptly and I was the proud owner of a single ticket in the dress circle to see "Art", performed by the triumvirate of Gatiss, Pemberton and Shearsmith who are "The League of Gentlemen". This does not sound like a problem... However, I still had no agenda; my show did not start for another three and a half hours.
Even three and a half hours in London needs an agenda or it's dead time, wasted time, time that will disappear into the ether and be lost forever. So, I went for a wander and myself myself in the stalls at a showing of Macbeth. I'd been drawn into its theatre by a vague recollection that its starts, Sean Bean and Samantha Bond, were in something good together, which I'd notice posters for on a previous visit. Anyway, other people seemed to be entering the theatre and they looked like they wanted to see it. I genuinely had no idea what I was about to see, as I paid, until I was handed my ticket... all I concerned myself with was whether I would have the time to see the show and how much I would be paying for the privilege.
Returning to the 23rd December 2002. The point is, I needed an agenda, I needed one fast. West-end shows were out of the question since my next commitment began before most of them started.
Posted: 05 April 2003
Ashley Frieze