The Smoke: An Urban Country Diary

C4 brown envelope

The stationer is now officially worried. That's two visits in a row in which I've bought just a solitary envelope. I'd agreed to sell a print of one of my Writers' Workshop cartoons - the one about Franz Kafka's tips for self-promotion - but it has taken me three and a half years to get around to sending it off. There was a massive queue at the Post Office on Seven Sisters Road so I worked out that it would be quicker to get the tube into town, drop off the envelope with the illustration to the buyer, then go for lunch at a nice Italian cafe. I timed it at two hours all in, pretty much the same time as I would have been waiting at the Post Office to buy my stamp.

The person who wanted the print has promised to send me a biography of Franz Kafka, written by her husband. I like the idea of biographies becoming a new kind of currency.

Jiffy Bag

At my local stationers I bought a size 1 Jiffy bag. The Jiffy bag is made from heavy duty brown paper and has a high quality sealing system. I'm trying hard to cut down on stationery items at the moment and managed to stop myself buying some more pens. The stationer looked at me with sad eyes.

"Are you not going to buy an ink cartridge for your printer?"

"No thanks, I'm going easy on the printing at the moment," I said, trying not to look him in the eye.

He sighed. "Oh," then did a sad thing with his eyes - made them big and a bit watery like a lonely puppy - and at that moment I nearly caved in. He then stepped aside so I could see all the great stuff he had behind the counter - pens, CDs, staplers, caligraphy sets, calculators, filing systems. I got very excited but managed to take the receipt and escape from the shop with just my Jiffy bag. 

Maybe I have started to beat my addiction.

Stuff

Versatile concept that can refer to anything, from a 1970s football bubblegum card with a picture of Leeds United's Peter Lorimer on the front, to emotional issues or programming languages. 

Computer

Plastic box with a screen, that buzzes at night. Has wires inside. You can type stuff into it. Sometimes it goes dead and you want to smash it to pieces.

Pentax Optio S4 digital camera

Tiny sliver of camera hardware that's smaller than a fag packet. It's lovely, but the controls are hard to operate if you've got farmer's finger (like my wife and I).

Urban Tractor Scene

Sitting at a bus stop on Stoke Newington Church Street I heard a sound both familiar yet strange. In the midst of the normal sounds of the city - police sirens, buses, cars, motorbikes, car alarms, roadworks -  came a low rumbling engine rasp. Then, chugging slowly from Green Lanes, along came a weather beaten John Deer tractor, pulling some kind of plough/rake contraption. It carried on towards Albion Road then disappeared into the centre of Stoke Newington. 

Is this now the fashionable drive of choice for the smart Stokeyites?

Quink (black)

"Do you sell Quink?" I said to my local stationer. "Do we sell Quink? Of course we sell Quink. That's a strange question." "Well, it's the digital age. I wasn't sure that people still used Quink." He snorts with derision and sells me the Quink, while also slipping in some crafty cross-selling and getting me to buy two expensive black ink cartridges for my inkjet printer. I used to do loads of stuff in Quink, until I bought myself a Wacom art pad in 1997. There was a girl I worked with when I first came to London who drew wild landscapes in Quink. I fancied her, of course, but she had an on-off relationship with a Scottish rugby player so I didn't get involved. He didn't play for Scotland or anything, he was just Scottish and played rugby. We lost touch around 1989 but I kept her memory alive by starting to draw my own pictures in Quink. My pictures weren't wild, mostly just sketches of fat people at Walthamstow market or caricatures of my flatmates. The stationer also cross-sold me some nice writing paper. I'm going to stop emailing my friends and write them proper letters instead. Masterpieces of the genre such as: "Howdy. Fancy a pint Thursday? T."

Spring on the 19 Bus Route

An Upper Street Walk

Drinkers stand near the bus stop.

WiFi workers stare

Cherry blossom floats 

Through the air like soft pink snow

Near the council offices

Treadmill late appointment simulation jog

I did just over two and a half km on the treadmill in an attempt to recreate that excruciating jog to an appointment or interview on a hot day when you're late and the buses are not running properly. Ideally I should have been carrying a big art folder or at least a bag with lots of papers inside.

In front of me were  three screens with no sound. On one screen was discussion of the budget with the BBC's Nick Robinson and  a woman in a purple blouse. There were subtitles but because of my detached retina eye I couldn't really make out much - the odd word here and there, that's all. Then we saw shots of MPs in the Commons. A screen to the left showed a cookery programme about bread making and on the right was a period feature film. Could have been Gone with the Wind. On my Ipod was a new playlist called running music:

1. Autobahn 66 - Primal Sceam

2. Swastika Eyes - Primal Scream

3. Mr Blue Sky - ELO

4. School of Rock - School of Rock

I won't be using these again, apart from maybe the first one. 'Mr Blue Sky' made me want to change my running speed to stay in time to the music. School of Rock was too all over the place for running music.

The Woman Out Of Hot Gossip

I'm trying to remember the name of the singer who had that hit with Hot Gossip in 1978. 'I lost my heart to a starship trooper'. She was The Woman Out Of Hot Gossip. But there's a hole in my memory where her name used to be. I watched them on Top of the Pops when I was 13, so I know she existed, in fact she ended up marrying Andrew Lloyd Webber. Was it Elaine Page? Arlene Philips? Gloria Steinem? Maybe it was Anthea Turner. No, that doesn't feel right.

How are you supposed to remember stuff without resorting to looking it up? I've been concentrating really hard all day but it still won't come, just this bleached out area of nothing, with dancers cavorting about all around it. Why do I want to know anyway? It was just a sequence of thoughts and then it came to a stop with whatever-her-name-is. I refuse to look this up on Google. It's a matter of principle. I must get my memory working again. 

Was it Susan Stranks?