"I should definitely make my own lunch more often. I have had this exact same thought, every single Wednesday for the past ten years."
Photograph: © Michael Schmelling
Craig Taylor
Craig Taylor is the author of Return to Akenfield and One Million Tiny Plays about Britain, which began life as a column in the Guardian. He is also editor of the literary magazine Five Dials. His latest book, Londoners is subtitled The Days and Nights of London Now - As Told by Those Who Love It, Hate It, Live It, Left It and Long for It. He tells us how he fills his time in and out of London in a not entirely typical week.
Monday
On Monday morning I got up early and left the house on my bike. I cycled across North London to Angel for an appointment with [not for publication] and then I wasted a little time at a coffee shop on Essex Rd run by an Italian woman who likes to stack pastry by the front counter. The stacks were gorgeous: blueberry muffins upon blueberry muffins. There was nothing in the café that resembled the usual limp London fare.
I had to conduct an interview so I checked my Oyster card and it seemed to be all right. It was not going to die. I keep a lot of loose double A batteries in my bag. They're supposed to be fresh but I'm always suspicious. I sometimes buy new double A batteries for my recorder just to know they're new, just so I can take them out of the packaging. I never like sitting down with someone fascinating and worrying about the state of my batteries. I never want to look down and see the red light flashing. When the recorder dies, I always have to start scratching more and more in my notebook. The spell is broken. I lose the cadence and flow, and the bounty, the overspill, the beautiful expressions. One of my heroes, Gay Talese, absolutely hates recorders. I understand he thinks recorders weaken a reporter's powers of observation. I take his point. Still, I like the way they capture the flow of voice.
So I end up purchasing a lot of batteries on Mondays. This Monday was no different. In the evening I met up with [not for publication] and [not for publication] at a Spanish restaurant.
Tuesday
On Tuesday morning I waited for the bus. My girlfriend bought me a banana as we walked past the fruit seller at Finsbury Park tube station. For ages she bought a single banana each day from this fruit seller. Now that she occasionally bought two bananas it seemed their relationship had changed. I forgot to ask her for the banana before she disembarked. A text from her later told me she'd eaten the two bananas. I bought my own banana for lunch.
I attempted to work. My work consisted mostly of what I'm doing right now: writing in a Claire Fontaine notebook and taking breaks to watch Vancouver Canucks highlights online, perhaps too often, especially 'the Burrows goal'. (Those who know it, know it). I'm not a big sports fan, but I feel calm and light when I watch the Burrows goal, so I watch it about five times a day, at intervals spread equally through the morning and afternoon, always while facing Vancouver. It gives my life structure. Perhaps the optimistic feeling comes from the sight of men in giant pads and facemasks hugging each other and jumping up and down on ice, which is not easy.
In the evening I met with my friend Joe Pickering and tried to explain why I forgot to mention him in the acknowledgements of my book. I couldn't find a good reason, so I vowed to myself to mention his name as much as possible in subsequent articles, as if six online mentions of Joe Pickering were somehow equal to one mention of Joe Pickering in a book. I'm still unsure of the real exchange rate.
Wednesday
Today I dealt with a few issues surrounding my book including [not for publication] and [not for publication]. (I'm going to start substituting Joe's name in those instances.) I ate a sandwich from Pret a Manger and thought, not for the first time, about who made the sandwich and whether or not I'd unwittingly eaten another of their sandwiches during some earlier lunch hour. I have no idea how Pret operates but I once did hear about the enormous industrial assembly of airline food and I spoke, off the record, to a few employees who make that sort of food for [Joe Pickering] and who must slog through so much butter spreading each day. They spread more butter in a day than I will spread in my life. I should definitely make my own lunch more often. I have had this exact same thought, every single Wednesday for the past ten years. 
In the evening I gave a talk about my latest book. I had been asked to perform alongside Diana Athill, a woman who speaks off the cuff in the most gorgeous, well-composed, grammatically sound sentences I've ever heard. The evening was hosted by Damian Barr. He's a great interviewer and I don't think he worries about batteries in the same way I do.
Thursday
I work in an office on Thursdays and each week I forget my security pass, so I have to ask the receptionist at the front entrance to let me in. I feel ashamed but she always tries to make me feel better by implying that many employees in the building are as congenitally absent-minded. She also tries to make me feel better by describing encounters with people who have walked past her desk, which in the past week included Pippa Middleton. And? I asked. She was nice, the receptionist replied. And? I asked. She was dressed beautifully in a very conservative way, the receptionist replied. And? I asked, but the receptionist had already opened the door with her security pass and was looking at me as if to say, Get to work, it's nearly 10:30, so I don't get to hear much more about Pippa Middleton. I'm aware of the time I arrive at work. I am only contractually obliged to work seven hours a week for [Joe Pickering] so I'm not too worried about walking in at 10:30am. I stay late.
Friday
I fly to Greece. I took five years to write a book about London that was little more than an outsider's effort to understand the city so I know I won't gain a full understanding of Athens in a couple days. That said, some of the signs are hard to ignore. All the casings of the pillars in front of a building facing Syntagma Square have been stripped and I'm told these chunks of marble are what protesters threw at the police as they showed their disdain for the proposed austerity measures. My hotel is next to the Greek EU building. Outside it sits a box holding a security guard. The reflective glass of the box has been smashed with what must have been a hammer. On Friday, Greek prime minister George Papandreou was somewhere in the country planning a referendum that would send the markets into turmoil the following week. But that hadn't happened yet.
Saturday
When I'm at home I try to write five pages a day in my notebook. It works out to about 370 words. I've been failing lately for various reasons but each morning is a fresh chance to capture those words. When I'm out of the country I tend to write lists. The following is my list from Saturday. Dogs asleep on Kolokotroni; dogs asleep in Syntagma Square; missing marble; cold mini-bar Toblerone; the Acropolis; pine trees; sunset on marble; a Greek flag flapping in the wind; the white sprawl of Athens; my brother emailing Instagram photos from his iPhone; proper dusk; the Acropolis suddenly lit with theatrical lighting.
Is the lighting of the Acropolis on a timer? How big is that timer? Is it anything like the timer I have at my place? Is it done manually? I work regularly at the London Library and I always thought the announcement that the library was closing was pre-recorded until I stood and watched one of the librarians speak it out with eloquence and precision.
My Greek list continues: dogs asleep on the steps of the Acropolis; new immigrants selling Louis Vuitton-ish stuff; tourist t-shirts on hangers; tourist t-shirts that read 'This Is Sparta' when it's not, it's Athens.
Sunday
I tell myself to read one book at a time but I rarely stick to that rule. I finished reading Boomerang by Michael Lewis and, not long after, finished reading Homeboy by H.M. Naqvi. I found a copy of Babbitt by Sinclair Lewis in the library of an old hotel and read the first twenty pages but then left it behind. I should have brought it along but it was one of only a few English books. The bookshelf was dominated by French, Spanish and Greek literature, so I left Babbitt in the hopes it would be read by the next Sinclair Lewis fan to arrive in the small village of Lefkes. (My brother and I left Athens in the morning). You can't exactly pick up an old Kindle digital file and wonder who left it in a quiet village on the island of Paros. You can't exactly leave an old Kindle digital file on a bookcase for someone else to pick up.
On the bus out of Lefkes I realized I had nothing to read except a book given to me the previous evening by an older Greek writer named Tessos. It was in Greek. A novice can't fake his way through Greek. A novice can't even scan the page in the hopes of picking up the Greek equivalent of 'café' or 'crème fraîche'. I decided to watch the scenery pass. It's at times like this I wished my employer had provided me with a Kindle. So far I have not been given one by [Joe Pickering].
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Londoners by Craig Taylor is published by Granta Books.
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Monday, 7 November, 2011
In My week
- Craig Taylor
- Andrey Kurkov
- Amy Waldman
- Moni Mohsin
- Luke Williams
- Sam Leith
- Dan Rhodes
- Reggie Nadelson
- Elizabeth Day
- Dinaw Mengestu
- Fannie Flagg
- Gary Shteyngart
- Adam Haslett
- Shane Jones
- Rupert Thomson
- Marilyn Chin
- Samantha Harvey
- Paul Murray
- Marcus Chown
- Charlotte Grimshaw
- Susan Hill
- Ed Hollis
- Ali Sethi
- Wells Tower
- Con Coughlin
- Dirk Wittenborn
- Kathleen Kent
- Daniel Everett
- Mark Crick
- Glyn Maxwell
- Rabih Alameddine
- Nicholas Hogg
- Charles Boyle
- Mohammed Hanif
- Sarah Hall
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