References: When To Admit You Have No Idea

 

"Oh I was going to leave the gig early," she said. "But then I found out that Bladidoodoo and Blimpypimpy were playing!"

 

These were not the bands real names. I just didn't have a clue who she was talking about. Problem was she was looking at me with such expectation that I didn't want to disappoint her.

 

"Oh wow, yeah, you had to stay," I replied, nodding enthusiastically.

 

If she detected the emotional vacancy in my eyes, she didn't say, and the conversation continued seamlessly.

 

It's not just music references that I've pretended to get in the past, I've also lied about knowing actors, famous books, films and directors. In fact only last week, while I was explaining the tone of my book, a friend said: "So a bit like a Richard Curtis film?"

 

Oh god. My mind drew a blank. I knew I should know this one. This was a biggie. If I shook my head now it would be like admitting I didn't know who William Shakespeare was. Thank god I knew him. He wrote Great Expectations.  

 

My hesitation prompted a concerned frown from my literary friend. "You know, Four weddings and a Funeral, Notting Hill, Love Actually?"

 

"Oh, yes, yes, yes! Exactly!" I cried, slapping my forehead to emphasise that it had only been a temporary memory lapse.

 

Internally I was wondering if I'd been frozen for a long period of time. It would certainly explain why I continuously failed to recognise so many cultural references.

 

I've often wondered how many times you should pretend you know who someone is referring to, before confessing. My rule has always been to nod your head knowingly for the first two unknown references, and on the third unfamiliar reference, admit your ignorance. The reason I eventually admit my ignorance is because a conversation about three people you don't know is just too uncomfortable. For all I know this is a common practice and more often than not, no one knows who anyone is talking about.

 

There are some subjects I don't mind people knowing I know little about. For instance, in my meditation group, a couple of members often reference philosophers and psychologists, and I'm happy to say, "I don't know who that is" five time in an evening.

 

With my writing group, I've also resigned myself to the fact they are all literary experts and have read everything worthwhile that has ever been printed. Instead of admitting I've never heard of it every time they mention a book, I usually don't say anything.

 

There will be times when I'll still nod. Those times when I sense I really should know something. For instance, who the prime minister is. His name begins with C I think. On the whole though I've grown more relaxed. Only the other day at a party, I asked someone what they did.

 

"I work for a PLMCT," she said, or something similar.

 

For a second, I considered nodding my head, but then thought better of it. Why should I know anyway? So I just told her directly that I had no idea what that stood for.

 

She was flustered. "Oh it's uh... how can I explain it..."

 

Obviously when she'd taken the job, she'd nodded her head and pretended to know what she was getting herself into. I felt quite relieved. I wasn't so bad after all. Not knowing who you work for has got to be worse than 'forgetting' who a director is, however famous!

 

 

The Olympic Pressure Ride

Picture from Cycle Info

Thanks to the Mayor of London my life is at risk.

Tube fares are due to increase by 8% which means I’ll shortly be forced to ride a bicycle.

My last memory of being on a bike, I was about twelve years old and struggling up a hill behind my brother.

The pedals were clearly cemented in position. I was going so slowly my bike was falling to one side.

‘Leave me here! I can’t go on!’ I sobbed. ‘Just go! Save yourself!’

My teenage brother had to deal with my whimpering for a good hour. It was the longest journey of his life.

In a city of eight million, hills are the least of my concern.

Cars scare me and buses scare me. Even confident cyclists scare me.

But most of all, Elephant & Castle roundabout scares me.

Crossing this roundabout as a pedestrian is a feat in itself as you have to orientate yourself through its underbelly of spooky subways.

I shudder when I think of going around it on wheels.

Today I saw a government poster encouraging the public to get back into cycling.

The poster showed three smiling children and their smiling father, cycling up a tree-lined pathway. I don’t believe there is a tree-lined pathway linking my house to any of the places I need to go on a weekly basis.

The price rise is to fund transport improvements in preparation for the Olympics.

I have never been bah humbug about The Games coming to London, but this crippling increase doesn’t seem fair at all, especially since the majority of Londoners were unable to secure tickets.

Frankly, in the spirit of the Olympics, visitors should have to run everywhere.

London transport is already the most expensive in Europe.

If it goes up any more then we must take a stand. That won’t be hard in rush hour.

Limited View

I have some issues with my local cinema.

Firstly, the majority of viewers come to eat rather than to watch the film.

A surround-sound of shuffling and crackling packets makes it impossible to hear what anyone is saying for the first twenty minutes.

As the trailers begin I’m already thinking, “If I was a dictator…”

But of course, if I were a dictator I’d have more important things to do than ban noisy eaters from cinemas.

My second issue is the existence of Premier seats, those indulgent armchair seats that cost extra and take the best part of the cinema.

For me, these seats are a symbol of all that’s wrong with our society. Every square inch has a price. You can no longer have a decent seat for just turning up early.

Must every little comfort really incur a charge?

Will we soon be paying an additional charge for sitting down on a bus, and eventually for clinging onto the bar?

Next there’ll be tracks in Oxford Street. The lane nearest the shop windows will be the most expensive and the free lanes will veer in and out of the traffic.

Oh we’ll never allow that, you say.

But not so long ago we had a tax on windows. If you couldn’t pay they’d come along and brick them up.

These charges will creep in so we barely notice them, until one day we wake up and submissively pop a pound in a metre for the first breath of the day.

(Breathe)

(Ping)

Last week the Premier section at my local cinema was completely empty.

A staff member sat in the aisle guarding its emptiness from people that assumed, wrongly, that their ten pound ticket entitled them to a normal position in the cinema.

Nope, ten pounds gets you a seat at the back or at the front.

It seemed churlish to stop people enjoying those seats when no one else was coming for them.

Frankly, Premier seats give me the creeps.

Elitism doesn’t belong in the cinema.

You're the Ones that I want! (ooh ooh ooh dammit)

After watching another piece of depressing news last week, I decided to embark on a change of lifestyle.

No longer did I want to be part of our greedy, all consuming society.

From now on I wanted to live simply.

I pictured recycled trainers, homemade jeans and potatoes growing steadily in saucers under my bed.

There is a saying: when you make a decision the whole world conspires to make it happen.

This is not so if you live in London and you’re decision is not to spend any money.

My intentions were good.

I genuinely felt I didn’t need anything and that, at least, made me happy.

And then I received a reminder e-mail for a hen party

The theme was ‘Grease meets Moulin Rouge’.

I opened my wardrobe and found nothing inspiring.

“I’ll buy something from a charity shop,” I said, confidently.

I bought a top from a charity shop once.

I never wore it. A month later I gave it back to them in a bag of old clothes.

Some people love digging around in second hand shops.

Personally, I don’t like the musty smell.

Still, I thought I could change.

I headed to Camden on a mission to be resourceful and creative.

After an hour of digging through bargain baskets and rails of hideous corduroys, I’d had enough.

I’m not a patient shopper.

When I saw a whole stall dedicated to shiny leggings my heart soared.

I would look like Sandy after all!

I picked up an awful pair of leatherette leggings.

“Fifteen pounds,” the stall holder said.

It was more than I had in my account.

But I did have cash... and it was going to solve all my problems.

“Twelve?”

“Fifteen.”

“Twelve?”

“Fifteen.”

It wasn’t the best bartering I’d ever done.

I handed over the money.

It hit me as I walked away that I had seriously failed in my mission.

Not only had I not managed to buy something cheap, recycled or second hand, but I’d bought something that I’d probably only ever wear once.

I felt miserable as I ruminated on how my fifteen pounds could have fed half the planet.

Then I tried the leggings on.

They were deliciously dreadful.

I started to feel better.

There is a saying: You can’t do everything at once, but you can do something at once.

I decided that for today, that something would be to lighten up!