This will be the last time I write anything whilst sat at a desk that isn't a desk, in fact it's a chest of drawers that I can't get my knees under and therefore my keyboard is sitting on my lap. This will be the last time I sit typing and occasionally reaching for a mouse that is about 6 feet away on the chest of drawers. The last time I am sat in a cold little flat so close to the radiator that turning off the heating means the rest of the flat is freezing but leaving it on means I am boiling sat next to my PC, looking out of the window at a fairly uninspiring view (I just spent the last 15 minutes trying to get my camera to work to take a picture but I have battery issues so I suspect by the time the ones I have just plugged into the charger are ready the view I show you will be pitch black.)
I'm struck by the fact that I've been living in this funny old city for two and a half years now. I've settled into a routine existence here in many ways and although I'm taking some really positive moves music-wise (despite my detractors who would surely argue I'm doing not very much at all), it has become quite conservative for me living here. I remember when I first came it was daunting with all the fast traffic and different languages and everyone looked different, loads of different shops, people not chatty, big distances to travel, cost of living and all that other stuff. I don't even notice it any more. People come to visit and I'm surprised by how they react to this place, and I imagine I must have been the same when I first came. Now I'm completely acclimatised. I don't know whether it's good to be a londoner at last but nevertheless it seems to have happened to me along the way.
And for most of that time that process has centred around this tiny little room of mine. We measured it the other day (for prospective tenants) - it was something like (). Big enough for a single bed, not really big enough for a PC, keyboard, two guitars, occasional visitors, and a 6 foot tall boy. Nevertheless I've squashed all those things in here for the last 36 months. I'm sad to leave in a way - the place where you live becomes a kind of walk in photo album of memories in itself - so much has happened to me and to the people around me in this little room - some fun - some hard moments, some downright nightmare moments - and some of those memories I guess will fade away after tomorrow as I go and live somewhere new, with new people, in a new place.
I'm not leaving London - I'm moving to Ealing (a bit to the west). Of course the main reason is to get a bigger room - a double bed, space for my musical instruments, a proper desk (which will mean I can do all the more important bits of my music stuff much more seriously - more recording, more writing, as well as having people to stay and living more comfortably, sleeping better etc etc).
It occurs to me that a lot of people my age (notably Matthew who was one of my best friends at university) are off marrying and settling down together and emigrating and travelling the world and all those things. London (once the big adventure) has become quite a predictable existence for me. The underground music scene, acoustic nights, meeting people, the adventure has waned considerably. Nothing impresses. That's how you know that you're a proper Londoner. Nothing impresses. Perhaps I need to do something radical with my life after I've packed all this up and spent a few months in ealing continuing to live in the rat race, writing blog entries, watching movies, going to things at the weekend, occasional holidays - all the repetitive elements of life have always held such ennui for me. My isn't this a self-indulgent post.
Do I travel? Move to another city?
What I intended to write about here apart from what I actually have written is about all this stuff sitting in boxes around me. What is the point of it? Won't I just put it on shelves in my next place? And the next? Don't we base so much of our lives on stuff? My friend oliver told me there was a great comedy sketch about stuff, perhaps if you're reaidng you can fill us all in. But aren't we all working to get on and up and make more money to buy more stuff? What's the point? Perhaps the reason I'm still house-sharing and flitting around is that all this material stuff that other people seem keen on never meant that much to me. Perhaps it's the curse of a good upbringing. All I'm really interested in is the experience of life, what you've done, what you remember, who you've met and how you lived. All that.
Perhaps I need to go and get on with living.
On that note..
Take care of yourselves
Adam
ps I hope someone got the billy joel reference, I know no-one shares my music taste but hey..
--
Adam Smith
visit http://www.adamsmithmusic.co.uk
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1 comments:
Of course I got the Billy Joel reference. :)
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