January is still the longest month
The fact that January always feels like the longest month does not matter as much when it's in the middle of summer as when the rain is horizontal and freezing on Hackney Road. Heck, if they could add an extra week or so right about now so it magically became last week, that would be good for me at this very moment in time.
I'm day before press day. It's a tricky one, the first one with my new reporter and with only a week and a half run-up after my break. What is more, all news seem to be taking a big break before the end of the month, when African leaders are gathering in Addis Ababa to talk about science. I'll be there, from the 27th to the 31st. If I can get the media accreditation, which is not at all certain at the moment. Hint to organisers of such events: If you put media contacts at the bottom of the invite, please make sure the email addresses actually work and the phone numbers are accurate...
It's also the first issue I'm putting together with Deborah, the new reporter, on board. It's wonderful to finally be able to scan the newslist, identify the boring-but-necessary stories, and go "Hey, can you write this, this and this" and then just press 'send' and they become somebody elses problem... But there are hiccups, mainly to do with distance. On account of the South African authorities being anal beyond belief, it's taking a few months to process her visa. So she's working remotely from Zimbabwe for now, and the fact that this is not causing HUGE problems is testament to her skill as a journo...
Thirdly, I'm reaching that stage you always reach after taking on a new journalistic 'beat'. The stage where everything feels, well... old. It's like, when you first pick up a beat you find news under each stone you turn. Even if it isn't news, you'll write it in such a way that it becomes news. Now everywhere I look I only see things I expect to see, which is probably the most depressing thing for a journalist. It sometimes even makes you blind to real news. Hopefully my trek to Addis this month will re-ignite my imagination.
Sister's boyfriend Ricky is down, a welcome addition to my little household on the mountain. They have been trekking around, leaving me to get on with my stuff and feeding me Swedish sweets that taste of nostalgia. My older sister sent me a photo of her pregnant belly - over halfway done now I think - and it all feels a bit freaky and surreal. Little sister thinks it looks fake. But then again, it will be real enough for her before long as she'll be home again by the time Little X pops out. I am hoping that I can make it too, but time passes so quickly these days.
Time passes. Sisters become mothers, cousins become wives (Cape Town Cousin is getting married here at about the same time as Little X is expected to arrive on this good Earth), friends become lovers and teachers turn friends, and everything... changes.
Yesterday, I came across something I wrote the moment I first decided to leave London. It made me recall how I felt back then. How big a deal, how painful, the thought of leaving London was - like breaking up a long relationship after nearly 8 years of good times, and bad.
7 October 2005: After nearly a decade in this city of lost souls and causeless rebels I've got a one-way ticket out. A ticket to ride, McCartney would have said. Or maybe Lennon. Where I'm going, and why, is for another day. Another song. This month, I'll be walking these dirty, grimy, beloved streets. I'll say goodbye to the doorman at the strip joint next to my house, the junkies that work the bars around Hoxton square, the city and its lights, the river at night. God, it's so beautiful. Round every corner, a different memory. Can I really leave it all behind?
Yes I could, and I did, and now, over nine months after I left, the sadness at losing something loved is gone. Funny, how nothing lasts. But then learning that no time, no place, will ever own you completely feels like a valuable lesson.
I'm day before press day. It's a tricky one, the first one with my new reporter and with only a week and a half run-up after my break. What is more, all news seem to be taking a big break before the end of the month, when African leaders are gathering in Addis Ababa to talk about science. I'll be there, from the 27th to the 31st. If I can get the media accreditation, which is not at all certain at the moment. Hint to organisers of such events: If you put media contacts at the bottom of the invite, please make sure the email addresses actually work and the phone numbers are accurate...
It's also the first issue I'm putting together with Deborah, the new reporter, on board. It's wonderful to finally be able to scan the newslist, identify the boring-but-necessary stories, and go "Hey, can you write this, this and this" and then just press 'send' and they become somebody elses problem... But there are hiccups, mainly to do with distance. On account of the South African authorities being anal beyond belief, it's taking a few months to process her visa. So she's working remotely from Zimbabwe for now, and the fact that this is not causing HUGE problems is testament to her skill as a journo...
Thirdly, I'm reaching that stage you always reach after taking on a new journalistic 'beat'. The stage where everything feels, well... old. It's like, when you first pick up a beat you find news under each stone you turn. Even if it isn't news, you'll write it in such a way that it becomes news. Now everywhere I look I only see things I expect to see, which is probably the most depressing thing for a journalist. It sometimes even makes you blind to real news. Hopefully my trek to Addis this month will re-ignite my imagination.
Sister's boyfriend Ricky is down, a welcome addition to my little household on the mountain. They have been trekking around, leaving me to get on with my stuff and feeding me Swedish sweets that taste of nostalgia. My older sister sent me a photo of her pregnant belly - over halfway done now I think - and it all feels a bit freaky and surreal. Little sister thinks it looks fake. But then again, it will be real enough for her before long as she'll be home again by the time Little X pops out. I am hoping that I can make it too, but time passes so quickly these days.
Time passes. Sisters become mothers, cousins become wives (Cape Town Cousin is getting married here at about the same time as Little X is expected to arrive on this good Earth), friends become lovers and teachers turn friends, and everything... changes.
Yesterday, I came across something I wrote the moment I first decided to leave London. It made me recall how I felt back then. How big a deal, how painful, the thought of leaving London was - like breaking up a long relationship after nearly 8 years of good times, and bad.
7 October 2005: After nearly a decade in this city of lost souls and causeless rebels I've got a one-way ticket out. A ticket to ride, McCartney would have said. Or maybe Lennon. Where I'm going, and why, is for another day. Another song. This month, I'll be walking these dirty, grimy, beloved streets. I'll say goodbye to the doorman at the strip joint next to my house, the junkies that work the bars around Hoxton square, the city and its lights, the river at night. God, it's so beautiful. Round every corner, a different memory. Can I really leave it all behind?
Yes I could, and I did, and now, over nine months after I left, the sadness at losing something loved is gone. Funny, how nothing lasts. But then learning that no time, no place, will ever own you completely feels like a valuable lesson.
posted by Linda at 13:00
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home