21 march : hiders

People do a lot of hiding these days. Behind their screens or slipping past you in the street without acknowledgement. It happens more and more, I find. I had a leak into my kitchen from upstairs a few weeks ago. I got the plumber to come and stop it. I called the landlord from upstairs. I said I’d send him the invoice. It was his dish-washer that disrupted. I’m getting my kitchen ceiling redecorated. It was ruined. That’s another invoice for upstairs. No response to my email; no response to my Whatsapp. I think the term is ghosted, or is that just for romance. I got the firm that looks after the building onto him. Still no peek from him. He’s a hider. He’s hiding the £700 he owes me.

I am a hider too every couple of weeks when my cleaner comes and I go next door to Tom’s for half an hour when I come home too early. Obviously, I don’t want her cleaning round my feet while I’m sitting around drinking tea. When my cleaner leaves my flat I hide behind Tom’s window. There is an angle she can see into Tom’s kitchen where I am also drinking tea. I don’t want her seeing me avoiding her. I’m a hider too. But my hiding isn’t costing anyone £700.

peoplearerubbish.com

March 8: my little room of things

Everybody must know the kind of people who talk a lot about their lives but never ask you a question about your own. When you are politely listening to them rambling on about their preoccupations, you are nodding along, varying the quality of your light smile, adjusting your limbs. You ask them all the right questions at all the right times. From time to time you attempt to nudge the exchange into a more general zone where some neutral material might be considered. From there perhaps you might be able to lightly push the conversation off into a a different direction, but no, they come marauding into the space and drag you back into the them-zone. They will not accept the air of that abstract space which is the intermediate place where civilized conversation goes to find another subject.

It’s not that I want to talk about my life. I have nothing much I want to talk about. I’m not pushing anything in particular. If the narrow side-door that leads out from that big barn were to be slid open and I were to be escorted through into my little room of things, I would probably want to just point out my scant possessions and then usher my interlocutor out again. But after two hours of relentless clobbering I am ready to leave my little room where it is and just slip away into the night.

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1 march: funny jobs

My friend Chris got a job a few weeks ago. He’d been sniffing around for one for a time. Freelance work wasn’t reliable enough. I remember I realised the same thing years ago. He explained his new job to me but I didn’t quite understand it. I thought I’ll get the gist as we go along. It’s an engineering/architectural firm that works with older buldings, sometimes of historical interest, repairing and renovating. Chris, as I understood it, as an art historian, was to be a kind of consultant on art and historical matters. He says he manages the gallery where they don’t really do any exhibitions. I think he said he makes the other workers fill in documents about the work they’re doing. Is he a kind of documentalist? I don’t know. One, not unconsiderable, thing he is doing is adding to the culture in the workplace.

People have funny jobs sometimes. There are jobs where you are the resident storyteller, which doesn’t mean you tell everyone nice stories as they get on with their day’s work. I’m not quite sure what it means, but I suspect the main function is to break the uniformity of the culture.. Of course, many years ago when I worked in France, I had probably the strangest job. Three of us would go into companies around France and work with a group from the company, (say, the director. the head of sales, the director’s secretary, a couple of people off the shop floor, someone from marketing). We’d make them sit on a rug while wearing a variety of masks and go through an exercise based on Artaud’s Theatre of Cruelty, Moreno’s psychodrama and Grotowski’s ideas on spontaneous expression every morning for a week. There was a lot of theory we went over back at the Paris headquarters of CESDEL (Centre d’Expression Spontanee Dramaturgique et Linguistique). What we did was a method based on a methodology, not a mere procedure. The word procedure was only uttered with disdain. Dramaturgy was the investment of time and space, whch we tried to bring into the method, especially in the the triangle of space and time elements. We got into a lather about all this stuff. Of course, there was a lot of money in in-house training in France in those days and some companies were up for the latest methods. And, to tell you the truth, it taught me a lot. In the years of teaching that have followed, I have never worried about preparing lessons. If you are not working material through with students spontaneously, it’s dead meat. It’s not a method!

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