…and
in the minicab on the way to Stansted the darkness is pierced
with streetlights and other yellow dots and I'm sitting
in the back after only an hour's sleep and 10cc's I'm Not
In Love is on the radio, and the middle eight suddenly sounds
like the soundtrack from Bladerunner, and I remember the
number of times I sat in the car with Brooke driving down
avenues to Pisa in the fading light and saying it was just
like the end of that film, when Deckard and the replicant
girl Rachel drive off into the sunset with Gatt's words
echoing in their ears.
"It's too bad she won't live," he says, "but
then again, who does?"
At
the airport I'm so fried I feel like someone's taken a Taser
to me while I slept, and I was just so tired I didn't notice.
So this drive to Stansted, getting out of the minicab into
the snow and grabbing my bags from the boot and wandering
into the light, slapping my stuff on the conveyor belt and
chatting with the Ryanair bloke and realising that this
might be the last time in a while when a set of simple enquiries
would go so easily and smoothly, was a bit of a moment of
realisation.
Of
course, there have been many. As Spock says in one of the
later, but strangely better Trek movies The Undiscovered
Country: "History is replete with turning points."
Spock always had that edge. And this history, bearing in
mind it's far from over, is handing them to me like they're
going out of style. The day before I returned to Italy to
start another, very different adventure, I feel like the
fictional bridegroom in every sitcom or drama – nervous
as fuck and scared stupid. Is this the right decision? And,
really, is this the time to be debating it? So I'm locked
into this zapped-out journey, this big steel tube full of
tired people and jet fuel, because I know in my heart that
to give this a go, to try to make a better life, a life
filled more with art than work, more with love than hate
or simple disinterestedness, cannot be the wrong thing to
do.
So
this is the last blog. Much has changed since I started
this insane set of rambling monologues some seven months
ago, and much has remained as it was. The Locusts of Doom
still buzz around my head like yellow cartoon stars. Barga
is still much as it was, and after going back there it seems
Palmers Green, where I used to live, hasn't changed a heck
of a lot either. Some shops have shut, some have opened.
When
I went to see Bech and Michelle at De Niro's café
in PG I asked what had been going on since I left, and Michelle
struggled to think of anything off the top of her head to
tell me. At this point I sat in the café and thought
'good lord, I've filed something like 35,000 words about
all the things that have happened to me since I last saw
you half a year ago'. So what does that mean? That my life's
been eventful? Or does it just mean that I've written a
lot of crap about stuff most people take for granted? Probably
more of the latter than the former, but there's no denying
there's been plenty to write about, from Petanque to drunken
evenings, from wine and olives to love affairs. I guess
that's more than I'd ever have had in PG.
I
promised in the last blog that I'd do Thoughts and Regrets
as well as Thankyous and Fuckyous, so I'll give it a go.
I'll start, though, with a few things that never went into
the blogs, kind of an outtakes thing, like at the end of
Burt Reynolds movies except less funny…
I remember in the summer lying in my flat on my sofa with
the smell of perfume and cigarettes mingled together coming
up from the bar below, filtering in through the door and
in from the window while people chatted and drank outside
at the tables. At the time, I thought I'd never fit in here,
never learn the language, and the book looked like an impossible
dream that would never be completed.
I
wrote the following in August:
"Ahhh you know the thing that really gets me? The
thing I really really miss? It's the thing above all others
because it simultaneously reminds me of all my friends,
of years of continuity, of Uni, of Anne, of summer and winter,
about four different homes, of drugs, drink and days off,
of Sundays lazing around with nothing to do except drink
tea, eat chocolate and watch telly, of writing essays, of
starting out in a press office and of everything in between.
Not
every day but sometimes, across the alley from me, through
the window of a house, I can hear the TV, and on the TV
is Star Trek: Voyager. When I hear the theme music it pulls
at my heartstrings, and when I hear the occupants whistling
the theme tune, badly, like we all did, for a second I'm
somewhere else. It's a little bit of magic."
I still miss Voyager and Next Generation, and when I was
round at Beard and Bridgette's house for Xmas day I had
a cry over an episode – partly because it was a good
one that jerked the tear ducts and partly because I'd missed
it, and I'd missed the people I was in the room with so
much. But, like Picard realised in the last ever episode
of Next Generation, all good things…
Now,
it's important to know the spin on that, otherwise it looks
like I'm being down about stuff. All good things may well
have to come to an end, but they can easily come to an end
because something else good needs to happen in their place.
And in between good things, there are often times of upheaval
and unhappiness. At the very least there are usually refuse
disposal sites of uncertainty and fear. So my current vacillatory
wanderings in the hinterlands of doubt are, in fact, completely
normal. Or so I'm telling myself.
So,
what of Thoughts and Regrets? I suppose I have no idea what
I meant by the Thoughts thing, as I've already rambled on
enough in these pages, in my opinion. But what would they
be if they existed? They'd be things like:
It was too easy to make stereotypes of Italians rather
than to look at people as Barghigiani, but also that stereotypes
have grains of truth in them that, if you can look at them
in a fresher way, can help you to see what kind of culture
you're in. Perhaps we British should look at ours without
getting too upset too, sometimes.
Getting
drunk all the time is something I used to do back in England,
and at the beginning of the blogs I bemoaned the Italians'
(there you go again) reluctance to do this just because
booze was available. Now I admire their restraint and their
ability to put drink in its proper place – subservient
to fun, not the sole route to it.
Living in London for ten years and coming from the suburbs
I had no clue about 'the country' and why on earth people
would want to spend their time tilling the land and stuff.
After a few months I began to expound on the wonders of
working on the land and lauding the locals for their 'back
to basics' lifestyle. Now there's a third view – though
I'm sure there are many here who like the fact they have
land and get by on it, it also means that a lot of people
get by with very little, which is not a good thing.
Being
the hero of my own story (thanks, Kaj) is all very well
to say but has proved very hard, if not impossible to actually
achieve. Though the Italians do seem to either love life
(a stereotype) or at least have a culture that says you
should love life (closer to the truth), it's still taking
time to rub off on me. I'm waiting to finish the book before
I take some time out to just do stuff, take in the scenery,
that sort of thing. As for loving life in a social way,
there's still a lot to learn from people who sum up sociability,
hospitality. They do it well.
Doing
things even though you don't like the idea of them on the
day is sometimes a good idea.
Italian television does not tell you all you need to know
about Italy. But it is a cracking way to learn the language,
without having people look at you like a retard all the
time. Who Wants To Be A Millionaire in Italian helped me
no end, as did Distretto di Polizia 3.
Speaking
of this, On Learning Italian: do not come to a foreign country
with no language expecting to pick it up in a trice. THIS
WILL NOT HAPPEN. Also do not give up trying to learn a language
formally, from books and stuff, once you have started speaking
it with people. This is a bad idea because you still know
next to nothing and will pick up all sorts of bad habits.
Think of learning a language like learning a musical instrument
– after a while you'll be able to do all sorts of
things, but it's all too easy to play Leaving On A Jetplane
again and again just because the crowd likes it, when you
should be learning how to play Stairway to Heaven. Or something.
If
you are going to try to write a book, don't worry if your
first attempt gets to 28,000 words and then turns out to
be a complete insane rambling mess. Don't despair. If your
original idea has become clearer because of it, start again.
Things will get better.
That's enough Thoughts – how about some Regrets?
I
didn't get down to Rome or over to Verona or Venice. I should
have, although I wasn't really here as a tourist so I don't
feel really bad. Maybe visits to those great places would
have added something to the book – who knows. But
I wish I had, if only because everyone says "You didn't
go to Rome?" in an incredulous voice. I did get to
Florence, though.
I should have hung out with more Italian speakers for longer.
For those I did hang out with who helped me, and those I
didn't hang out with but still helped me see Thankyous.
I
should have set myself a stricter schedule for working on
the book, and I didn't. This worked for many times when
I wanted to work and a little bit of guilt helped me with
impetus. But there were many times when I knew I should
have been working and I didn't because I'd decided I could
just do it when I wanted. This was not always true.
Subsequent to that, I should never have put Civilisation
2 back on my computer. That was a wasted three weeks when
I should have been working. I very nearly managed to remove
computer games from my life for six months but failed. One
great moment, however, was when I wiped Civ2 – I felt
like I'd scored a huge victory over my natural apathy and
escapism.
I
wish I hadn't felt so hard-nosed about writing things in
the blog just because I felt they needed to be in there.
I really made Danielle angry with my reference to her in
the blog, and looking back maybe I should have left the
entire episode out. I feel, in my heart, like I did the
right thing in putting everything in that I did, but I never
meant blogs to hurt people and a few of them did, or pissed
people off. It was never meant to do that.
I should have saved more money in my life for events such
as this. If you intend to do things like this, for example
dump your whole life and just go somewhere else to write
some stupid book, save up some cash. I'm fiscally fucked,
so don't make the same mistake I did.
I
can't think of any more, and I guess that's a good thing.
There ARE more, but I can't think of them. So maybe they
don't prey on my mind, which can't be bad.
Thankyous and Fuckyous
Ahh, I've been waiting for this bit.
Fuck you to London for burning me out and being a smelly
hole that I now can't believe I lived in without realising
the true polluted horror that it is.
Fuck
you to nearly all the schooling I had as a child for not
making me a more confident artist. I can do things, such
as write and take photographs, and I had to find these things
myself. So Fuck you Aberdour, and Fuck you Wallington Grammar.
You both sucked. And Fuck you too certain members of the
staff in Middlesex University English department for saying
I wrote like a journalist/didn't know what I was talking
about/I'd never become an academic or would understand literature.
You were wrong.
Fuck you to certain people over here in Italy who will
remain nameless who have made Brooke's and Babbo's life
and mine more difficult. Money is NOT everything, and one
day, hopefully, you'll understand it.
You know, strangely, I can't think of any more Fuckyous.
Thank
you to London for being a smelly old hole that made me want
to leave. I couldn't have done it without you.
Thank you to my schooling for verifying that you can still
be some of the things you want to be even though they don't
think you can.
Thank you to everyone in Barga who put up with my language
(lack of skills and profanity), played
petanque with me, took me out to places just because
I was there, made me dinner when I was hungry and lonely,
helped me with the book, sat up with me until four talking
shit about life in general and a book no one understands,
listened to my bad renditions of songs on the guitar, turned
up to my birthday and made me really happy, waited for sometimes
seemingly forever while I tried to explain things, and pointed
out that I might be slightly awry about things I was saying
about them, helped me sort things out I thought might be
impossible and generally treated me with a lightness of
touch and friendliness that I felt I had no right to expect.
I'm not going to name names because if you do that you always
forget people and that would be awful. I feel you know who
you are, and I'm glad I'm back with you.
Thank
you to all my friends in England for making both my Going
Away situations easier to bear, for listening to me when
I was down, for keeping in contact, for coming over to see
me in the pouring rain just because it was me (something
I just didn't understand), for giving me feedback on the
book, for saying they were sure it was going to work, for
putting me (and Brooke) up over Xmas and New Year and making
the time so fantastic, and generally for being themselves.
You're all stars, every one of you, even the ones I ballsed
up trying to see when I was back – don't take it the
wrong way; I'll visit again really soon.
Thank you Brooke, for changing my life in a way I didn't
realise would happen.
And
finally, Thank you to Babbo and La Padrona, for everything
else, and for making it possible and fun. You're diamonds.
Sometimes in the rough, granted, but…
This has been an awesome time, and I've hugely enjoyed
it. I've also had a terrible time, occasionally, but I blame
the Locusts. There've been ups and downs, but where would
life be without those?
What
Gatt, the detective in Bladerunner whose words ring in Deckard's
ears as he's trying to escape, what Gatt was trying to say
was that no one lives forever, and that you have to use
the time allotted to live, to find things that make your
life more interesting, or just… more. His deal with
Deckard was that running away with Rachel was the right
thing to do, to just go, to live while you can, no matter
how many problems there might be, no matter how, ultimately,
doomed to oblivion we all are.
I said I'd run out of Thoughts, but looking back over this
blog, it's full of them, so I haven't done so badly. Before
Vince left to back to England for Xmas, he told me that
I should live by a quote that Gerun, his wife, told him.
I can't remember it all, it's a three-line thing, but two
of the lines are: "Dance like there's no one else in
the room, and love like you've never been hurt."
I'm
adept, after a few grappas, at the first. Now I just have
to see how close to the second I can get. I know I can't
really, truly get there. But trying's got to be worth a
few gold stars on the classroom board of life, somewhere
along the line.
Take care all
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