Still worrying about my lack of money. Recording in Hackney is paid for by the Fosca Kitty, but it also means a £15 cab ride home for me each time, as I insist on never taking buses after dark, particularly not the Foul 43, North London’s favourite bus for homophobic attacks and fatal stabbings. AND it takes too long.
Such cab rides must duly come out of my own money, rather than the band’s. Two such sessions with taxi rides this week have done the most damage to the Dickon Purse. Then I find my Oyster Card must be topped up, if I’m to take a bus or tube anywhere between now and Tuesday. And I have a suit to be picked up from dry cleaning, naturally. And my mobile phone credit needs topping up, too. I could just get by without it, but I do need it to interact with other humans. I need to phone the cab, phone the producer to let me into the studio, phone a band member to ask them something important, and phone the producer again when I leave the studio and lock myself out. Then there’s the text messaging, back and forth, to arrange things like the Latitude DJ booking. Because some people prefer to live by text than by email. Which is fine, but it means I can’t live with zero credit in my phone.
It’s all very well saying you’re going to eschew email or mobile phones and just live like the Old Days, but if you want to have anything to do with other human beings, you have to meet them on their terms. Hence the mobile, the email and the Myspace or Facebook account (though I have very mixed feelings about the latter two). People with mobile phones often tend to be late, or cancel. So you need a phone.
I meet the modern world halfway on this. I tend to keep my cheap little mobile (no Bluetooth, no camera) switched to silent, and only check it from time to time in case there’s a text or voicemail message. If I have to, I try to make all calls in places I hope they won’t disturb others: empty hallways and avenues. But generally I try not to use the phone at all, preferring email. This has meant that I’m probably losing out on all kinds of work offers and social events, but so be it.
My home phone is switched to the answering machine all the time, unless I’m expecting a call. So it doesn’t even bother me by ringing: it just goes straight to recording a message. But if the house is quiet enough, I can hear it clicking on then clicking off at various times during the day. I know exactly who such callers who never leave a message usually are: call centres trying to sell me something.
The London Library’s Suggestions Book currently hosts an amusing argument between its members. The suggested etiquette on mobile phone use at this most distinguished of subscription libraries is to switch them to silent for the hallowed Reading Room and use the corridors to make limited calls.
Some members think this latter option is still an irritation, and want a complete ban throughout the building. Others prefer a discreet tolerance in the corridors: ‘Some people can be “off-air” for hours at a time, but others have responsibilities… This is a twenty-first century place of work, not a gentleman’s club!’ (the Reading Room has large armchairs and a fireplace reminiscent of those club scenes in Yes Minister)
There is a certain glamour to my living jobless and hand-to-mouth in a bedsit, but insisting on taking taxis, subscribing to the London Library, wearing suits, moisturiser, Touche Eclat and contact lenses all the time and having a higher dry cleaning bill than most. I put food somewhere down the list after these. The Low Life should never mean letting one’s appearance go.
One could argue that having a topped-up phone is as necessary for some as having a topped-up stomach. And in the cases of the fashion industry, even more so.
