Red in tooth and cheek.
People who have read my book (they are a select group but they are definitely people) often ask me to what extent Paul, the protagonist, is based on me. And the answer is: not at all.
We're not the same age, we don't look alike. He is taller than me and has never been married. He's not in a relationship and he doesn't live in Northern Ireland. He has two thousand vinyl albums. I have one. See, two different blokes. Chalk and gypsum. Couldn't be more different...
Except...almost all of Paul's adventures spring from his gaffes. He's like Prince Phillip on a walkabout, but with a crippling self-awareness that the hawk-like royal consort doesn't seem to share. Paul bounces from awkward situation to awkward situation like a pinball on full tilt. That is our connective tissue, the string of umbilical gristle that binds us.
I went to the dentist today. It was an emergency appointment to replace a broken crown. The dentist had to fit me in between appointments which meant I ended up waiting 25 minutes. I didn't mind the wait, I was glad he could see me at all. But 25 minutes alone in my head without any distraction places me in the ZONE OF THINKING. There I am at peace. The ZONE OF THINKING is like an undersea kingdom: a murky, silent world where I can be alone with my thoughts and the colourful extruded plastics that bob past twirling in the currents. It is here I imagine the conversations of the people I have invented. They chat, burbling away merrily as I transcribe, notebook in hand. Rousing me suddenly from this state can cause an effect like the bends: I surface too quickly, discombobulated and confused. I am more than usually gaffe prone.
I had my bag with me as I had to post a big, padded envelope later in the day, and when the dentist beckoned me in he said "You can put your coat over there." He then looked down and saw it was a bag and said "oh". He had clearly realised his mistake. Normal John would have left it there. But not fresh from the ZONE John. I held it up in front of me: "It's a bag, ACTUALLY."
Even now its the "Actually" that stings. He gave me a look of obvious contempt and I realised that this was a man who was about to put his hands in my mouth. A man with a talent for causing pain. The rubber gloved upper hand in our relationship. And I had just held up my bag and said "Look its a bag, idiot. Dur. Even a tiny child can recognise a bag, you terrible, terrible arse." There may have been no palpable chill in the air for the rest of proceedings but by God I felt one, and spent the rest of our 15 minute appointment gushing thanks at the man, every time his fingers left my mouth.
Of course it seems like nothing. A normal person wouldn't think twice about it. But I am not a normal person and I brooded on it for the next hour and a half as sloped towards the Lisburn Road.
And Paul would have done the same. As well he might: the trials I put him through are ten times worse.
We're not the same age, we don't look alike. He is taller than me and has never been married. He's not in a relationship and he doesn't live in Northern Ireland. He has two thousand vinyl albums. I have one. See, two different blokes. Chalk and gypsum. Couldn't be more different...
Except...almost all of Paul's adventures spring from his gaffes. He's like Prince Phillip on a walkabout, but with a crippling self-awareness that the hawk-like royal consort doesn't seem to share. Paul bounces from awkward situation to awkward situation like a pinball on full tilt. That is our connective tissue, the string of umbilical gristle that binds us.
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| "Its not a coat its a beret, you dental fool!" |
I went to the dentist today. It was an emergency appointment to replace a broken crown. The dentist had to fit me in between appointments which meant I ended up waiting 25 minutes. I didn't mind the wait, I was glad he could see me at all. But 25 minutes alone in my head without any distraction places me in the ZONE OF THINKING. There I am at peace. The ZONE OF THINKING is like an undersea kingdom: a murky, silent world where I can be alone with my thoughts and the colourful extruded plastics that bob past twirling in the currents. It is here I imagine the conversations of the people I have invented. They chat, burbling away merrily as I transcribe, notebook in hand. Rousing me suddenly from this state can cause an effect like the bends: I surface too quickly, discombobulated and confused. I am more than usually gaffe prone.
I had my bag with me as I had to post a big, padded envelope later in the day, and when the dentist beckoned me in he said "You can put your coat over there." He then looked down and saw it was a bag and said "oh". He had clearly realised his mistake. Normal John would have left it there. But not fresh from the ZONE John. I held it up in front of me: "It's a bag, ACTUALLY."
Even now its the "Actually" that stings. He gave me a look of obvious contempt and I realised that this was a man who was about to put his hands in my mouth. A man with a talent for causing pain. The rubber gloved upper hand in our relationship. And I had just held up my bag and said "Look its a bag, idiot. Dur. Even a tiny child can recognise a bag, you terrible, terrible arse." There may have been no palpable chill in the air for the rest of proceedings but by God I felt one, and spent the rest of our 15 minute appointment gushing thanks at the man, every time his fingers left my mouth.
Of course it seems like nothing. A normal person wouldn't think twice about it. But I am not a normal person and I brooded on it for the next hour and a half as sloped towards the Lisburn Road.
And Paul would have done the same. As well he might: the trials I put him through are ten times worse.
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