I slept until 7.40 this morning and woke with the guilt of someone whose body is convinced it’s had a lie in. Three extra hours in bed, compared to every other day this week. It’s great having a day down.
I’ve ended up in a pub at 3.45pm, ostensibly to do some work as I’ve got my laptop with me. But outside of a few invoices I think I’ll just drink weak lager and take in the sunshine until my friends arrive at 6. I might book a flight to Jersey too, and stay a night too long over there. There are things to do there, outside of visiting friends. There’s a room full of boxes of shirts and papers that I’ve been ignoring for years and need to sort properly. There’s a lawyer I need to talk to. There’s an old guy who wants some papers. And there are rocks to climb, fish to eat, patches of warm sea to swim in, and memories to wallow in.
Most of my childhood it was either Christmas or this time of year forever. That’s what I remember. I was mostly running around in the garden while my mother filmed me with her cine camera or wiped stuff off my face or got me to make her juice. I was climbing trees and falling off my bicycle and getting stung by bees and looking for insects with Max. Those memories are mostly located on that small granite rock near France. I only ever go there in a rush these days. I might linger longer this time. But there’s something mildly annoying about paying for a bed in your old home. Still… airbnb is likely to yield fruit so I’ll get looking as soon as I hear back from the lawyers…
In the process of writing that sentence about waiting to hear back from the lawyers, I realised it was procrastination so I booked my flights and car hire and told my agent I was off. It seems I’m going to Jersey on Tuesday. Who knew? This time I won’t get my hire car jammed across a road just before my flight out. I don’t know where I’m staying yet. I’ll sort it for sure asap. In fact a friend has offered me a bed on Tuesday so it’s just Wednesday in Harbour View, St. Aubin.
In theory I’ve got enough time to get things done and then bask on a beach. In practice the weather will break, fog will prevent me landing, eventually I’ll get in, the lawyers will be on holiday and then I’ll find out I’m auditioning for Tarantino in London and I’ll be fogged in so I’ll try to row to Portsmouth, capsize and drown.
Still, being in Jersey will be a tonic. In this London beer garden, there’s a building site with constant drilling just over the wall to my left.
Add to that the fact that they’re playing fucking “Beautiful Day” by U2 on the radio while the strident people shoutfight to my left instead of talking, and peace and quiet would be so welcome right now. It’ll almost be that holiday I’ve been craving. But with the pretend excuse that it’s for life admin…