An Alternative Universe for Tuesday Afternoon

Today, an incredibly wet and gloomy Tuesday, I had a brief and powerful escapist fantasy. Triggered by listening to Arctic Monkey's on my Ipod and realising that Alex Turner is basically my age but with a tidy bank balance that frees him to do basically anything he wants in his life. This propelled me into an alternative universe where I wasn't locked into a happy but prosaic life in London's ragid, glamour-less hinterland but free to jump up, do anything, go anywhere.


Instantly I knew what I would do, I'd duck out quietly and pop over to Berlin for an undetermined period to glide calmly through the the days and weeks. If I was lucky I might even convince my girl to share it with me. I'd rent a little flat on the upper floors of one those beautiful turn of the (last) century apartment blocks somewhere around Prenzlauerberg, the ones with the tiled entrance halls, wrought iron stair rails and high ceilings. The ones with a faded, but still graceful glamour and a sense of age, history and significance.

I'd cherish both the baking dry heat of July and the finger-freezing, lip numbing chill of the city's long, deep winter. I'd record the gradual changing of the seasons with my camera, stopping here and there to capture anything that caught my curiosity or delighted my eye.

I'd pick up a secondhand bike and serenely work my way around the city exploring it's nooks and crannies, stopping in little cafes for coffees, beers and a little reading. I'd leave my flat late at night and ride on over to bars to meet new friends and old native acquaintances on who I'd practice my faltering early attempts to master their grand tongue. We'd joke and drink and stay out late into the morning. When it was time to leave I would cycle home happy in the knowledge that once again I had nothing to do on the new day but to hop on the bike and make my way wherever I wished.

The Chair

The Eames Chair

As a small child I was always intrigued by the special armchair my grandfather had. It was of completely different design and style to the other upholstery and occupied a prime location within their living room. From it my grandfather spent significant parts of his retirement watching Channel 4's horse racing coverage. I wondered why it was reserved just for him and why he needed it when there was a perfectly decent 2-piece suite of sofa and armchair (actually it was a 3-piece but the second armchair had been banished to the dining room to make space in the living room for his special chair).

As I get older I increasingly understand the appeal of a special chair, it's almost the indoor equivilent of the shed, a sort of safe-haven for a man within his world. I'd love to be able to have a truely amazing chair, something perfect and impossibly comfortable. In my dreams I can picture myself reclining delightedly in a classic 20th century design like an Eames chair, however, at a cost of £3000 or £4000 each I, like Marty Crane in 'Frasier' may have to settle for something a little more modest, though I hope mine will not be held together with duct tape.