There was nothing else on. i was watching a documentary about The Good Life. Not on how to live the good life, But the 1970’s TV sitcom The Good Life, But as I say, There was nothing else on, So rather than ponder in silence my own Innate sadness and the crushing loneliness Of existence, I thought I’d watch it.
At least it will kill half an hour. Something mildly diverting. They showed some interviews with celebrities Laughing conveniently at the clip They just showed. Jonathan Ross thought that Margot falling in the mud Was comedy gold. James May liked the bit with the pig. Just before the advert break, as a teaser, They show Margot saying, ‘Well thank you, Tom’, While the narrator said, ’And there was one cast member no-one got on with. Stay tuned to find out who that was’.
My curiosity piqued, after five minutes Of adverts for sofas and stairlifts, (My god, they know their demographic), Came the second part. Richard Briers apparently didn’t like vegetables And Susan Colman thought Tom cleaning out his own chimney with inevitable Soot-based complications Was comedy gold. As a teaser for the next part, They show Margot saying, ‘Well thank you, Tom’, While the narrator said, ’And there was one cast member no-one got on with. Stay tuned to find out who that was’.
How long is this programme?, I pondered. Part three started with Felicity Kendall Talking about dungarees And Sir Trevor Macdonald Thinking that the episode in which a donkey Got stuck in the shed Was comedy gold. As a teaser for the next part, They show Margot saying, ‘Well thank you, Tom’, While the narrator said, ’And there was one cast member no-one got on with. Stay tuned to find out who that was’.
By now it’s been an hour And it shows no sign of stopping And there’s been no mention yet of the Juicy gossip or even of Margot saying ’Well thank you, Tom’. Jo Brand came on to say that The episode in which Tom Gets kicked in the goolies by a cow is comedy gold. As a teaser for the next part, They show Margot saying, ‘Well thank you, Tom’, While the narrator said, ’And there was one cast member no-one got on with. Stay tuned to find out who that was’.
And now it’s been an hour and a half And I’m worried that I’ve stumbled into another dimension In which I’m cursed to watch a documentary About The Good Life For the rest of time. And the Archbishop of Sodding Canterbury comes on and says The episode in which a sheep is sick On Margot’s shag pile rug Is comedy gold, And I’m thinking I don’t care, I never watched it I never liked it I just want to find out which cast member they didn’t like I’m sitting here watching this crap What does that say about me? As a teaser for the next part, They show Margot saying, ‘Well thank you, Tom’, While the narrator said, ’And there was one cast member no-one got on with. Stay tuned to find out who that was’.
And there are more adverts for dandruff medication And a vacuum cleaner that picks up invisible dust And I think, if it’s invisible dust, Then how do you know when the bag is full? And the sodding documentary is back on and finally They show the clip of Margot saying, ’Well thank you, Tom’, And the audience hoots like it’s flipping hilarious And finally oh so finally The narrator says ‘And there’s one cast member that nobody got on with’. And it turns out to be the fucking goat. The fucking goat. Two hours of my life I sat here waiting for this. I want to throw the TV out the window. Two bloody hours. The fucking goat. And the bloody thing ends limply with the end credits. Nobody got on with the fucking goat.
I turn the TV off. And I sit there for a bit. I’ve learned a valuable lesson.
The first things you see when you arrive at Dublin are a huge church next to the terminal building with GOD IS LOVE printed on the roof, and a sign for a tour of the Guinness factory. So this makes me wonder what a teetotal atheist such as myself might be doing here.
I showed my bus ticket to the man with the clipboard outside the terminal. ‘Trinners?’, he asked. I then realised that he’d meant ‘Trinity’. I thought he was complimenting my trainers. Seriously. No wonder he looked confused when I said, ‘Skechers’.
I’ve been working on a novel this year. It has taken almost three hours out of every day. I’ve been waking at five and writing until nine, which usually means going to the station at eight and working on the train. Seeing the end of the novel approach, I decided that what I’d like to do was to rent a cabin somewhere in the woods, lock myself in it, and write. So I looked at some cabins for hire on websites that specialised in that sort of thing, and wouldn’t you know it, none of them had desks.
I’ve stayed in university accommodation many times over the years, particularly at the Edinburgh Fringe, and I knew that one thing you always got with such a room was a desk. I then thought how nice it would be to go to Dublin, a place I’d never seen before.
I really lucked in with the room that I was given. It’s right on the main square as soon as you come in the gate of Trinity College. It really does make me feel like a don, and I imagine all of the famous writers who used to study here. Samuel Beckett, of course, and Oscar Wilde. My chambers also included a lounge and a kitchen, all of them with views across the square of this famous building.
Do you know what it reminds me of? Trinity College, that is. It’s kind of like the Vatican, the way that this own little world behind walls with its own security team is plonked right in the middle of Dublin. That may be so, but I ain’t no pope. A cardinal perhaps, but not a pope. Though I have been practising my wave, every time I look up from the washing-up and see the tourists taking photos of the building.
Yes, I’ve been doing a lot of writing. I wrote late into last night and then again first thing this morning, and if that wasn’t enough, I even dreamed of writing the novel.
Around ten o’ clock this morning, after I’d had breakfast in the buttery, (oh, I love that word! Buttery! I expected to see churns), I could feel the very last paragraph coming. I had a long thought about what I was going to write and then, because I have an ego the size of a mountain, I filmed myself writing the last paragraph. Because who knows, it might be one of those historic moments in my life! Probably not, but it’s nice to dream.
But looking at the footage, how nice it was, to see myself go into that trance which always comes over me when I write, the sound of morning birdsong coming through the open sash window.
I’ve been getting out and about, though. Of course. The National Museum is currently closed due to a refurbishment, and so is the modern art gallery attached to the college. The castle is closed, too, because Ireland is currently the temporary head of the EU. But I did manage to discover that the National Gallery was still open, ( well, two floors of it, the others are being refurbished). I saw some remarkable paintings including the inevitable Rothko, and was fascinated by the wonderful fly on a Bosch canvas only to see that it was an actual fly.
And the bars! I’ve never seen so many Irish theme bars. It’s like every bar in Dublin is an Irish theme bar. There are so many bars in the Temple district that there are bars right next to other bars.
What’s the weather like?, I hear you ask. Actually, it’s rather pleasant. This morning was overcast and there was a slight breeze, I actually felt chilly. Sorry if that’s rubbing it in a bit, as England swelters.
So yes, this was definitely a good idea. The accommodation has been perfect and the novel, or at least this draft of it, is finished.
Last night I read the opening of a chapter of the novel I’m working on. It was a fun night and I had a great time. I hope you enjoy this audio extract from a project that has taken over my life for the last few months.
Robert Garnham 