Perpetual Proliferation

          At work this morning I had to laugh off my hangover. I was getting through cases, what more do they want?

            I met Robin for lunch today and discussed dry legal cases. He’s suddenly become so incredibly dull to me. I can’t really explain it. I suppose in some ways he even reminds me slightly of Annabell, living and breathing work. This perpetual proliferation of legal anecdotes, spliced with occasional grumbles about government gambits, is truly taxing on the soul.

            At some stage I should give up these adventures, and probably Ed too, if I’ve any sense, but I hope to God I never become as boring as Robin. As boring as I used to be, I suspect.

You Know Where They Take the Dead People, Right?

 

          Last Saturday night in Brighton, when we ran from the bar, I committed the last song playing to memory. It was ‘Hip Hop is Dead’ by Nas. This would create Ed’s next song-venture. We discussed it this morning and nothing obvious occurred. We listened carefully to the lyrics until Sharona spoke.

            “’Bodies in the morgue lie together’ – let’s use that line!” she said.

            “How do you propose we do that?” I asked.

            “We’ll find a morgue and Ed can go lie next to a body.”

            “Yeah,” I replied, “how hard can that be?”

            “That’s the spirit, Evans! I’m in,” said Ed.

            We started online, looking for a morgue but it’s surprisingly difficult. You can’t just type ‘morgue London’ into Google. We were drawing a total blank on it. Then I remembered that Robin used to work in the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead, to earn money for his legal training, so I gave him a call. He agreed to meet us at the Roebuck pub opposite the hospital, but I didn’t tell him why.

            We were just leaving when Alice rang the doorbell. As I saw her I remembered with considerable embarrassment that I’d texted her last night and agreed to meet for lunch today. I’ve been trying to stay in touch with her since Ed dumped her; she’s such a sweet girl. I’d forgotten all about her though.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ed asked, not amused to see her. I restrained him and explained. He shook his head in apparent pity at me. “You can’t leave well alone, can you Evans? So be it.”

Reluctantly he agreed that she could join us but in the awkwardness no one actually really explained what we were doing to her, and no one introduced her to Sharona who ended up putting on a brave display and doing it herself. Alice reacted to Sharona’s introduction shyly but politely.

 

*

 

Over a splendid lunch at the Roebuck Ed began questioning Robin.

“So you worked over there?”

“That’s true, many years ago now.”

“But you remember the place? You remember the layout?”

“I was just working in an administrative role.”

“Yes, but you know where they take dead people, right?”

Ever the master of tact, Ed. Robin became extremely reluctant at this stage and I tried to explain with some cock and bull story about Ed needing to describe the inside of a real morgue to his school kids! Can you imagine? It was the most transparent lie and Ed could hardly keep a straight face. Alice looked slightly concerned by this point.

            Robin didn’t like it at all but nonetheless, after lunch, he took us into the hospital and helped us find the morgue. We dodged a couple of doctors on the way in, pretending to be on our way elsewhere, with the elsewheres supplied by Robin. It was actually a very well lit place and not half so much like a horror film as might be suspected!

            We found a side room full of liquids and scalpels and decided to take a closer look. Ed told Alice and Robin to keep guard outside and make sure no one caught them. Neither of them looked at all impressed.

            Once inside Sharona looked at home. She wandered about lightly touching objects with fascination. Suddenly Ed yanked open a big metal door. Inside, amazingly, was a dead body. I froze, uncertain of what to do at the sight. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a dead body. Ed on the other hand didn’t appear in the least concerned. Worse, he actually managed to find space on the metal surface to sit himself down next to it.

            “What the hell are you doing?” I whispered, hoarsely.

            “Oh calm down,” he replied, in ordinary tones.

            Sharona walked around the other side of the surface and placed her hand, lightly, on the dead man’s hair. “Lie down,” she commanded Ed. He looked around at her and raised an eyebrow. He looked down at the body and for a moment hesitated. Then he did as he was told and lay down, sideways, alongside the body.

            “Guys,” I started, “I’m not sure about this at all. Maybe we’re taking this thing just a little too far.”

            “Sod that Evans,” said Ed, “just whip out your phone and take a picture before it’s too late!”

            “What, and create evidence of this insanity?”

            “Do it, Tom,” said Sharona.

            I started. There was an odd lilt in her tone. She looked altered somehow, almost high. Reluctantly I took out my phone and took a quick snap.

            “Now get off and let’s get the hell out of here!”

 

*

 

            Back outside the room Alice and Robin were gone. In silence we stalked uncomfortably out of the hospital. No words seemed appropriate.

            “What have we done?” I said, once we exited the place. No one replied.

            Alice sent me a text message shortly later.

            ‘Thanks for lunch. It was… unusual. x’

            Back home in the early evening I found Ed at the computer.

            “Let’s see what’s next,” he said.

            “Don’t you think we’ve done enough?” I asked.

            “You’ll get over it.”

            He brought up itunes with all our songs on it and typed ‘dead’ into the search box. Up came ‘Before I’m Dead’ by the Kidney Thieves.

            “It’s off the soundtrack to that vampire film isn’t it?” he said. “Just so long as it doesn’t involve morgues – maybe you’re right Evans, perhaps we shouldn’t go back there. Might get caught next time…”

 

Can't You Be Serious?

          I met Robin for lunch today and told him all about the wedding crasher plan.

            “How amusing,” he said, when I was done, “but it’s all rather silly isn’t it? I mean, shouldn’t you be knuckling down to work now?”

            “Eh?” I said, rather nonplussed.

            “Come on Tom, you’re not yourself these days. Where’s the hard working man I knew who’d put the drive to succeed above all else. You were playing the game perfectly before you got all these non-conventional ideas into your head. You have to pull yourself back together and stop living this silly fantasy life.”

            “What’s your problem Robin? I don’t need all this negativity.”

            “‘Negativity’? I’m sorry Tom, but you begin to sound like a Scientologist. What’s Ed getting you into?”

            At that moment I received another text message from Fiona. She wanted to go out on another date. I decided to ignore it. The timing was good though. The tension broke and Robin tactfully changed subject. We sat through the rest of lunch with reasonable civility. Nonetheless, his words had affected me.

 

*

 

            This evening I sat down with Ed to have dinner.

            “Ed,” I began, “I want to have a serious chat with you for a moment.”

            He laughed.

            “I’m serious, Ed.”

            “I know, that’s what’s so funny.”

            “But you don’t even know what it’s about.”

            “Okay, okay,” he said, calming down, but preserving a sardonic smile.

            “Where are we going with all this stuff? Don’t you think we ought to think about the future a little more carefully?” Ed had begun laughing again. “Honestly Ed, pull yourself together. I’m talking about both of us now, even you have to consider the future at some point. What’s going to happen to you when this hedonistic life of yours is no longer sustainable?”

            Ed was by now uncontrollable.

            “What’s your fucking problem, Ed, can’t you ever be serious about anything, for even a moment?”

The Feet of a Human Being

            With nothing else to do I gave Robin a call. We went to the football, Reading v Blackburn. It was a pretty dull game in the end, Reading just aren’t entertaining. I actually would’ve prepared to go watch an Ebbsfleet game. At least I own part of that club!

            As I sat amongst the tame and dry crowd I wondered about the fan mentality. It seems to me that half of the fun of these things is the shared experience. At a passionate club you can stand amongst wild fans who never sit down and never stop singing, that’s an experience in itself. On the other hand, if you go to Reading, since it's in the Premiership, or Chelsea, to take a better example - they're just as boring at the moment, the only social benefit you get is to brag about having gone to the match to anyone that’ll listen in the following week, as though it somehow demonstrates your worth. You certainly don’t turn up for the entertainment.

            It’s all a little accidental anyway. What determines your choice of team? Nearest club? Nearest premiership club? Parent’s club? The club of the England striker when you were 9? Whichever it is you’re then stuck with it, whether it’s a good choice or not. And why? Why can’t you switch allegiance? Because it’s frowned upon. It’s not the done thing. A big taboo. So there you sit, wearing the same colours as everyone around you, cheering a bunch of human beings for everything they do with their feet. It’s so illogical. It’s pure surrender to the social machine.

            In some ways there are parallels between one’s club and one’s girlfriend. They are at least a partially accidental choice and once the novelty fades you stick by them out of ill thought out loyalty.

            On the other hand, in football, you tend to get more respect for sticking by a low level team; loyalty trumps quality. Not so with girls…

Knuckle Down

            I met Robin for lunch again today. He’s delighted that I’m working hard again. I must admit he reassured me.

            I realised I’ve spent so much time speculating on the purpose of life, and such like, that I’ve become a little melodramatic. Sometimes the best thing to do is just to knuckle down and get on with it.

Don't Throw It All Away

          I met Robin for lunch again today. We exchanged pleasantries as we bought our sandwiches and sat down. At a break in conversation Robin changed topic.

            “Have you thought any more about that crazy Roxanne idea?” he asked.

            “Er…” I was caught slightly by surprise, not expecting Robin to bring it up. I decided to lie. “Not really.”

            Robin momentarily narrowed his eyes. “I see.” He said, slowly. “That’s good.”

            “Okay. Fine. I did think about it more. In fact…” I wasn’t sure whether to go on. “I did more than think about it.”

            “Are you mad?” he asked, calmly.

            I explained the whole story to him, from start to end. I left out a few details; I’m not exactly proud of all of it.

            “Do you feel better now?” he asked, at the end of my story.

            “For having told you? Or for having done it?”

            “Either. Both.”

            “For a barrister I’m no good at lying. So I had to tell you. As for how I feel about it, I feel… nothing. I can’t work it out. It lies outside my reality. I’m almost unsure that it happened at all. I feel detached. It’s meaningless to me right now.”

            Robin looked at me with something like kindness. “You’ll make sense of it eventually,” he said, “but until then it’s probably best to work out where all this is coming from. Don’t you think?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “It’s time to face up to your real life.” He paused and I looked at him blankly. “Annabell’s gone. She’s not coming back. But she’s not everything. No one person could ever be everything. You still have a life and a good one at that. You’ve got a great job, friends and family that love you. Maybe it’s time to concentrate on those things? Don’t throw it all away, Tom.”

More About Robin

          Five years ago Robin came to me with a Plan.

            I was floating pointlessly around on my English degree back then, unwilling to consider a future wrapped in failed publishing deals, critiquing others’ work that I could never myself achieve or teaching. He was doing a law degree at the time; he’d always wanted to be a solicitor and had worked to it his whole life, summer-long work experience and all.

He told me he had something important to say and we went to lunch.

“If you don’t mind I’d like to make an observation.” He said. What can anyone say to that? He saw my look. “I don’t want to assume anything.” He added.

“No, Robin, it’s fine. What’s on your mind?”

“I think you need direction, Tom.”

“No kidding. My whole life is about that right now. It’s a tough one. I can’t seem to see myself anywhere, but I’ve got to find some respectable place.”

“Take law, Tom. It’s got everything you need!” I laughed at him. “No, I’m serious. It’s got intellectual stimulation and even respectability.”

“Haha! No one respects lawyers!”

“They do respect barristers though…”

I raised an eyebrow. I didn’t really know the difference at the time, but what he said felt right. Barristers are respected. Right?

So here I am. Full of self-respect.

 

*

 

I met Robin for lunch today and he asked me where on earth the idea arose for the Bassman adventure. I explained how it all began.

“Sounds like a good bit of fun!”

“So far.”

“So far? You’re not going to continue it are you?”

“Er… well… I’m thinking about that right now actually. I’m not sure.”

“Look, Tom, it’s none of my business but… well look, don’t repeat this, it’s just…”

“Spit it out.”

“I don’t think Ed is the best influence on you.”

“He’s helped me a lot these last few weeks.”

I suppose that wasn’t the best comment. I could see Robin thought it should’ve been him. It wouldn’t be proper to acknowledge that though. “Of course,” he said, “I didn’t mean to intrude. What’s the next adventure then?”

“Roxanne by The Police.”

Robin raised an eyebrow and nodded appraisingly. “Interesting.” He said. “What does that mean?”

“It means I have to sleep with an escort girl.”

Robin spat out his coffee.

Mr Bassman

“Nothing that you do will ever feel good if you let people convince you that you have no choice.” – Fiona Apple.

 

          Until today, I hated karaoke.

            Robin tried to talk me out of it, when we called him last night to tell him his part in today’s adventure. In the end he relented. As straight-laced as he is, his one weakness is singing. He’s always been a talented singer and as time went on he began to get into sound engineering, on a hobby-sized-scale. This was too much for him to resist.

 

Hey Mr Bassman

I’m asking just one thing

Will you please teach me

Yeah, the way you sing

‘Cause Mr Bassman

I wanna be a Bassman too!

 

            You have to listen to this song. Since I heard it yesterday I’ve hardly had it out of my head. It’s sung by two different singers, the lead and the bass. The lead singer wants the bass singer to teach him how to sing bass and as they duet the lead singer begins singing his own bass line. It rocks.

            Robin agreed to take the role of Mr Bassman while I would sing the lead part. Ed would simply help set up and generally assist (while I can only sing a bit, he can’t sing at all!).

            Today’s song-inspired adventure was to reproduce ‘Mr Bassman’ by Johnny Cymbal as though we were buskers on the tube. We chose Warren Street. Robin brought over the necessary equipment, including a ready made CD backing track that he’d engineered, removing the vocals and leaving the instrumental. In the end we were able to set off, having rehearsed the song all morning, with only a modest bag each of equipment.

            “Is this entirely legal?” Asked Robin, on the way over.

            “I’m not sure.” I replied. I’d been wracking my brain on the very question all day. After all, it wouldn’t do to break the rules… let alone the law.

            “You pair of pussies!” Ed interrupted. “Just get on with it.”

            By this point far too much effort and time had been invested, so it wasn’t mentioned again.

            We got to the bottom of the escalators at Warren Street and began whipping out the equipment as fast as possible. We knew we’d have almost no time before someone was sent to kick us off. One couple wandered over to enquire about our activity.

            “This man here is a famous busker.” Ed said, pointing to me. “Stick around, you’ll be entertained!”

            By this point my body was beginning to pump with adrenalin. I couldn’t sing to an audience! This was just plain silly. I started to panic. Robin looked across at me and laughed.

            “By the look on your face, you’re feeling the same as me.”

            There was no time to think. We were set up and Ed pressed play. The backing track started and Robin looked across at me, suddenly calm and ready, in the mindset of the performer, like a barrister before he delivers his closing speech. Suddenly he began the bass line:

 

Bah B B Bah B Bah B Bah Bah BB
Bah BB Bah B Bah B Boom Boom Boom

 

            I was amazed, for such a slight guy he could really belt out a deep bass line. It was suddenly my turn. I leapt into it as confidently as I could.

 

Hey Mr Bassman
You've got that certain something
Hey Mr Bassman
You set that music thumping
To you it’s easy when you go 1-2-3
Bah B B Bah B Bha Bah BB

 

            I was nervous for the first two lines but then I got into it. A small crowd of smiling faces began to gather around us. They seemed to be loving it, and anyway, there were only a few of them. We got through a couple more verses and, it has to be said, everyone who got to the bottom of the escalator, bar one or two, stopped to watch us. We were a hit!

            As we got towards the end of the second to last verse we saw a couple of guys from London Underground heading down the escalator towards us. We were too close to cut short prematurely so we carried on. We were really rocking out now, duetting various crazy bass lines that hadn’t even formed part of the original song.

 

Come on Mr Bassman

Now I’m a bass man too!

Bah B B Bah B Bah B Bah Bah BB
Bah BB Bah B Bah B Boom Boom Boom

 

            The LU staff were loving it too, you could see, but they began to signal to us that we had to stop. Ed walked over to them and spoke to them. The song came to an end and Robin and I high-fived, firing on the adrenaline.

            “Yeah!” I shouted.

            “Right, pack up lads and move on. Very entertaining, but don’t let us catch you at it without a license again eh?”

            “No problem,” said Ed, “but just before we go, what’s your favourite song?”

            “I’m not giving you any requests. Forget it.”

            “No, we won’t sing it. Just satisfy my curiosity.”

            Robin and I began furiously packing up.

            The LU man raised his eyebrow at Ed and flippantly replied, “Deeper Underground, by Jamiroquai.”

 

            On the way home we were on such a high. I can honestly say that this was about as much fun as I’ve had in years.

            “And look at this,” Ed said, emptying his pockets, “we made a few quid ‘n’ all.”

Jane

            I actually resisted.

 

*

 

            About a week and a half ago I mentioned Jane, Ed’s only English girlfriend.

            I worked in Chambers today (my office in Temple). For lunch I went to meet my friend, Robin. We went to school together and have stayed in touch ever since. He knows me well and is possessed of very sound, calm judgment. He expressed his regret about Annabell, reflecting my view that she was just right for me. He’s a solicitor, so we then talked business for a while.

            Robin took his leave of me and I was about to head back to work when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned.

            “Tom, isn’t it?”

            “Yes… You’re Jane!”

            I had never decided whether Jane presented an attractive picture. She has straight well tended mousy hair, and a pretty little nose above a full mouth. Her eyes, though, always bothered me. They were narrow and cold, unsettling somehow.

            “You’re living with him, aren’t you?”

            “Er… Yes. How did you know?”

            “I always liked you Tom, so I have to tell you…” She looked troubled. “Don’t trust him.”

            I laughed. “That’s the number one rule with Ed, isn’t it?”

            She didn’t. “I’m serious. He…” She paused.

            “Go on.”

            “Ask him.”

 

*

 

            In the evening I cracked open a couple of beers and sat down in the living room with Ed.

            “I’ve been meaning to ask you for a long time Ed: what was the deal with Jane?”

            Ed continued watching television as though he hadn’t really heard me. “What do you mean?” He replied.

            “What went wrong?”

            He muted the television and slowly turned to face me. “Now why would you want to know that?”

            “Er… Curiosity?” I paused as he stared at me. “Don’t you think it’s odd, that you never talk about her?”

            “What’s to say? We broke up. It’s over. It was a long time ago now.”

            “I thought you really loved her. At the time.”

            Ed began looking about, distracted. “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter now.” He un-muted the television, turning back to it.

            “Ed, won’t you tell me what happened?”

            “No, Tom, I won’t.” He replied. “Besides, there’s nothing to tell. Now drop it would you?”