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And people do put money on the blanket. I got about ten pounds for playing “Losing My Religion” to a whole crowd of Spanish kids outside Madame Tussauds, and only a little less from a bunch of Swedes or whatever the next day (’William, It Was Really Nothing”, Tate Modern). If I could only kill this one guy, then busking would be the best job I could hope to find. Or at least, it would be the best job that involved playing guitar on a sidewalk, anyway. This guy calls himself Jerry Lee Pavement, and his thing is that he sets up right next to you, and plays exactly the same song as you, but like two bars later. So I start playing “Losing My Religion”, and he starts playing “Losing My Religion”, and I stop, because it sounds terrible, and then he stops, and then everyone laughs, because it’s so fucking fu
But I guess everyone has someone at work that they don’t get along with. And if you’re short on walking metaphors for the stupidity and futility of your working life—and I appreciate that not everyone is—then you have to admit that Jerry Lee Pavement is pretty hard to beat.
Maureen
We met in the pub opposite Toppers’ House for our Ninetieth Day party. The idea was to have a couple of drinks, go up on to the roof, have a little think about everything and then go off for a curry in the Indian Ocean on Holloway Road. I wasn’t sure about the curry part, but the others said they’d choose something that would agree with me.
I didn’t want to go up on the roof, though.
“Why not?” said Jess.
“Because people kill themselves up there,” I said.
“Der,” said Jess.
“Oh, so you enjoyed it on Valentine’s Day, did you?” Martin asked her.
“No, I didn’t enjoy it, exactly. But, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” said Martin.
“It’s all part of life, isn’t it?”
“People always say that about unpleasant things. «Oh, this film shows someone getting his eyes pulled out with a corkscrew. But it’s all part of life.» I’ll tell you what else is all part of life: going for a crap. No one ever wants to see that, do they? No one ever puts that in a film. Let’s go and watch people taking a dump this evening.”
“Who’d let us?” said Jess. “People lock the door.”
“But you’d watch if they didn’t.”
“If they didn’t, it would be more a part of life, wouldn’t it? So, yes, I would.”
Martin groaned and rolled his eyes. You’d have thought he’d be much cleverer than Jess, but he never seemed to win an argument with her, and now she’d got him again.
“But the reason people lock the door is they want privacy,” said JJ. “And maybe they want privacy when they’re thinking of killing themselves.”
“So you’re saying we should just let them get on with it?” said Jess. “Because I don’t think that’s right. Maybe tonight we can stop someone.”
“And how does that fit in with your friend’s ideas? As far as I understand it, you’re now of the opinion that when it comes to suicide you should let the market decide,” said Martin.
We’d just been talking about a man without a name called Nodog, who told Jess that thinking about killing yourself was perfectly healthy, and everyone should do it.
“I never said anything about any of that’s—”
“I’m sorry. I was paraphrasing. I thought we weren’t allowed to interfere.”
“No, no. We can interfere. Interfering is part of the process, see? All you have to do is think about it, and after that, whatever. If we stop someone, the gods have spoken.”
“And if I were a god,” said Martin, “you’re exactly the sort of person I’d use as a mouthpiece.”
“Are you being dirty?”
“No. I’m being complimentary.”
Jess looked pleased.
“So shall we look for someone?” she said.
“How do you look for someone?” JJ asked her.
“There’s probably someone in here, for a start.”
We looked around the pub. It was just after seven, and there weren’t many people in yet. In the corner by the gents’, there were a couple of young fellas in suits looking at a mobile phone and laughing. At the table nearest the bar, there were three young women, looking at photographs and laughing. At the table next to us there was a young couple laughing about nothing, and sitting at the bar there was a middle-aged guy reading a newspaper.
“Too much laughing,” said Jess.
“Anyone who thinks text messages are fu
“I’ve seen some fu
“Yeah, well,” said Martin. “I’m not sure that really disproves JJ’s point.”
“Shut up,” said Jess. “What about the bloke reading the paper? He’s on his own. He’s probably the best we can do.”
JJ and Martin looked at each other and laughed.
“The best we can do?” said Martin. “So what you’re saying is that we have to dissuade someone in this room from killing themselves whether they were thinking of it or not?”
“Yeah, well, the laughing cretins aren’t going to go up there, are they? He looks more, like, deep.”
“He’s reading the racing page of the f— Sun ,” said Martin. “In a moment his mate’s going to turn up, and they’ll have fifteen pints and a curry.”
“Snob.”
“Oh, and who’s the one who thinks you have to be deep to kill yourself?”
“We all do,” said JJ. “Don’t we?”
We had two drinks each. Martin drank large whiskies with water, JJ drank pints of Gui
“So,” said Jess. “Anyone up for going over?”
No one said anything, because it wasn’t a serious question any more, so we just smiled.
“It’s gotta be a good thing, right? That we’re still around?” said JJ.
“Der,” said Jess.
“No,” said JJ. “It wasn’t a rhetorical question.”
Jess swore at him and asked him what that was supposed to mean.
“I mean, I really do want to know,” said JJ. “I really do want to know whether it’s… I don’t know.”
“Better that we’re here than that we’re not?” said Martin.
“Yeah. That. I guess.”
“It’s better for your kids,” said Jess.
“I suppose so,” said Martin. “Not that I ever see them.”
“It’s better for Matty,” said JJ, and I didn’t say anything, which reminded everyone else that it wasn’t really better for Matty at all.
“We’ve all got loved ones, anyway,” said Martin. “And our loved ones would rather we were alive than dead. On balance.”
“You reckon?” said Jess.
“Are you asking me whether I think your parents want you to live? Yes, Jess, your parents want you to live.”
Jess made a face, as though she didn’t believe him.
“How come we didn’t think of this before?” said JJ. “On New Year’s Eve? I never thought of my parents once.”
“Because things were worse then, I suppose,” said Martin. “Family’s like, I don’t know. Gravity. Stronger at some times than others.”
“Yup. That’s gravity for you. That’s why in the morning we can like float, and in the evening we can’t hardly lift our feet.”