May 21, 2013

Where are they now? An interview with Diamond Geezer!

jackofdiamonds1Are you living in the same place as in 2004/05?

Absolutely. All that’s changed is the place where I’m living. In 2004 Bow was just an overlooked neighbourhood in East London, and then in 2005 a Frenchman opened an envelope and dropped an Olympics on my doorstep. My flat hasn’t changed, and most of the streets close by haven’t altered much either, but the area just across the river has changed utterly. It’ll be a while yet before I stop living on the edge of a building site, but the ripple effect of that Olympic summer will last for a very long time.

Would we recognise you if we passed you in the street?

I hope not. I’d still rather be a playing card than a person.

What do you think is the best/most important new technology/online thingy to have appeared in recent years?

Twitter’s ace, isn’t it? I don’t use it much, but as a way of keeping up with what everybody else is thinking it can’t be beaten. However I do suspect that Twitter is also to blame for the fact that so many Uborka-generation bloggers have given up writing in long form. Why go to the effort of joined-up paragraphs when you can make your point in 140 characters or less, and get an instant response into the bargain. Please continue talking between yourselves, and I’ll carry on spouting paragraphs in the corner.

We all had a blog back then. Do you still have one, or are you mainly present somewhere else?

Do I still have one? Of course I do, I’m not some internet lightweight.

What achievement of the last 7 years would you most like to celebrate here?

Still being here. Seven years is about 2500 days, and I’ve posted something on almost all of those. The series of posts that best sums up this madness must be my Random Boroughs feature. Four Saturdays a year, for eight years, I picked a London borough from a set of folded slips of paper in a jamjar, researched the place in an hour flat, went out and toured its most interesting sights and then came back and wrote about it in depth for three consecutive nights. You have to be proper bonkers to do that, without once thinking “ah stuff it, Hillingdon’s actually quite boring”. The entire 33-part series was inherently pointless, but I’m still well chuffed to have got to the end, and I know I have a hugely better understanding of the entirety of London as a result.

And here are your questions from Anna:

How, after all these years, do you still find such boundless energy for your blog?

I have a sense of blinkered persistence, an inner urge which forces me to write stuff even when it might be more sensible to slouch on the sofa and do nothing, or to go out for the evening, or to go to sleep. And I have the time. Unlike you, dearest Anna, I don’t have another half to cosy up to, or a young toddler occupying my every waking hour, or another house move to organise. My evenings and weekends are a blank canvas, so either I fill them with blogging or else I’d have to get a social life.

What do you consider to be the ‘Golden Era’ of your blog?

Through necessity, rather than choice, it has to be last year’s Olympic summer. For a couple of fortnights my hyperlocal blog had global relevance, and the readership figures have never been higher. Even better I somehow managed to combine going along and attending tons of events with squeezing in the time to write about it, and what I’m left with is a first-hand account of an unrepeatable event.

And why would anyone with any sense ever live more than a mile from the sea?

I know I know. I have to make up for this deficit by visiting the seaside at regular intervals, often the Kent or Sussex coast, for a good maritime blowout. I do live about a mile from the Thames estuary, which is technically the sea according to some definitions, but in reality I’m entirely landlocked until the Thames Barrier fails.

Who would you like us to interview next, and what shall we ask them?

I’d like to invite Lyle, thanks. I’d like to know how he copes with moving around the country so often, and whether he was secretly glad to escape from Norfolk. I’d like to ask how he’s feeling about 80 days time, if that’s not too impertinent. And I’d like to know if anyone’s ever bought anything off his Amazon wishlist.

Karen
  • Comments: 5
  • I'm uncommonly pleased with the term "Uborka-generation bloggers." - Karen
  • It's all yours, Lyle :) Blimey, I hadn't even realised that's where Rillington Place is... - diamond geezer
  • Oh flip. :-) - Lyle
  • PS: As much as I mumble in anti-london ways, I still get very excited when you wander near... - anna
  • Lovely. Thank you, DG. It makes me extremely happy when I visit google reader (shit, I bet... - anna
  • Comments: 2
  • That looks like fun, Bernard. I hope you had good time. Now I'm going to have to teach... - another mike
  • That looks like a big crash, I think it's banger racing. Nice photo, Dad! - Bernard
  • Comments: 5
  • Yeah. First happened 18 months ago and I did the standard x-clamp replacement and overheat... - Pete
  • What's happened? Is it the traditional red ring? - Stuart
  • It has not worked. - Pete
  • I heard a rumour that it had worked. - Karen
  • I'm not optimistic. I think I'm not going to be playing GTA 5 this year after all. - Pete
May 17, 2013

Last Orders

This afternoon for your virtual drinking pleasure, we have recreated a pub in Armpit1 known within the family as The Death Lounge. Decorated in autumnal shades for your autumn years, this well-proportioned room is dimly lit to hide the unsightly, unidentified staining around the legs of some of the chairs. The chairs are high-backed, with wipe-clean upholstery, and are placed around the edges of the room so that you can stare across at the old biffers playing dominoes.

Sprightly shuffler Sevitz is first to the bar as usual. Have you noticed that? He has this spreadsheet, you see, and it reminds him to pre-schedule his drink order before I’ve even written the post. He’s the only visitor today acknowledging the Man Utd theme, with his red wine. Some of us were sprightly once, but our sporting days are of course over (in my case, pretty much before they’ve even begun), but it’s nice to put our feet up, eh Tom? Can I offer you some tiramisu with that whisky mac?

It takes very little imagination to place Mike and K in a snug corner by the roaring bars of the fragrant electric fire. There they sit every evening, toasting their toes; Mike still clinging to the remnants of his sophistication, sipping that eternal Old Fashioned; K sliding into the oblivion of ever more vile combinations of alcohol and drugs. Not, any longer, that sort of drugs. Lisa confirms that sanatogen is indeed alcoholic, and she is a retired scientist so she should know. She has demanded to share with K, and threatened him with her knitting needles, so best hand it over.

The little row of knitting ladies also includes Clair, already looking forward to the bingo later; Pixeldiva, drinker of port and lemonade by the bucketload, and her compatriot Kirsty, nodding off over her medicinal brandy and milk, with occasional mumbled remarks about bunnies. None of it makes any sense. But frankly more sense than you’re likely to hear further down the row, where Lyle is knocking back satan’s balls like you wouldn’t believe. Presumably this is some sort of arrangement he’s made in order to gain immortality.

Dementia is of course a recurring theme within these frosted velvet walls. You’ll have noticed asta, in denial, telling everyone else how old they’ve got, and pretending she doesn’t like the sherry she’s swigging. I even saw her upend the bottle into her soup at lunchtime. Mark will be lucky if there’s any left for him. And then there’s Graybo. One day he says he used to be the benevolent dictator; next day he’s the King of England. Yes, dear.

Talking of repeating oneself (did I say that already?), Pete is retiring from blogging. He’ll have forgotten about it tomorrow. And did you see that guy in the long tweed overcoat and bits of sausage in his beard? He used to be the finest mind of our generation, now he’s a howling loony, covering every paper napkin with grotesque biro drawings of, well, Graybo in his underpants. This is all getting a bit weird. Did anyone see where he went with that strange fizzing drink?

There are a few empty seats around the walls this afternoon; it’s hard to say whether they’re the places of those who have gone before, or simply they who have not yet arrived at The Death Lounge. Someone has to stay unretired, paying taxes so we can party into the long, dark night.

  1. unpleasant northern seaside town where I spent my teenage years []
Karen
  • Comments: 9
  • This Dignitas is surprisingly moreish. I think I might have anomunnamunnammmmmnnnn.... - Doctor Pockless
  • Hmm blast. This spreadsheet is broken. Downs wine. - Sevitz
  • First - Sevitz
  • Don't worry Stuart, I'm sure there's a still-warm seat available along the back wall. - Karen
  • I'll just skulk in, late as usual, for a pint of bitter and twisted at the bar. - Stuart

Bar’s open

Our benevolent dictator Graybo has asked that we adopt a retirement theme, following Sir Alex Ferguson’s announcement that he’s retiring in order to drink all the vineyards dry.

So we’re setting out the chairs around the walls today; please get your zimmer frames and hobble to the bar. Drinks will be served before dinner; best choose something that goes well with cabbage.

Karen
  • Comments: 15
  • Whisky Mac for me - apparently it's an old man's drink but I've always been partial to it. - Tom
  • I'd like the rest of asta's sherry, please. The bottle will do, no need for a glass. It's ... - Mark
  • My granddad would always drink whisky and lemonade, so I'll have one of those and raise a ... - Clair
  • In honour of all the little old ladies, who seem to have disappeared from my life, I'll h... - asta
  • Bucket of Port and Lemonade please *nan face* - pixeldiva