A Journey Around the Room
We’re the last two people awake at Laura’s party. Two other guests are crashed out on the sofa but otherwise it’s just me and Lydia working our way through the last bottle of Freixenet. She’s beautiful but we have little in common and it’s almost time to head home.
Then Lydia says: “I bet you ten pounds that you can’t get around the room without touching the floor.”
Laura is passed out in her room and can’t stop me. I slip my shoes off, crack my knuckles and walk to the doorway, from where I plot my course.
I stretch my left foot out to reach the sofa then jump up, holding onto the back for balance. I take a giant step - over the two sleeping drunks - to the sofa’s other arm. From there, it’s round the windowsill to the desk chair, then crawling across the dresser. I clamber over Lydia’s armchair, so that it’s one bookcase between me and victory. The shelves begin toppling and I leap off, just about making it to the door. A book tumbles to the floor before the bookcase rights itself. Then silence, a few giggles, but nobody wakes up.
Lydia reaches into a handbag and takes out a roll of notes held by a rubber band. She peels one off and hands it to me.
“Have you ever been up to the roof here?” she asks.
“No, have you?”
“Yes,” says Lydia. “There’s a ledge that goes around the building, it’s about a foot wide. Do you reckon you could get round that?”
The sky is brightening outside, and I can see myself on the roof, the town laid below me. Sure. I could do it easily. A foot wide is fairly big. But a mistake would be lethal. I imagine falling, and nobody knowing why I’d been up there in the first place. I make my excuses, saying it’s time to go, and leave the money behind on the chair.
Background
The title for this piece comes from Xavier de Maistre’s 1794 book A Journey Around My Room, written when the author was confined to their house due to a duel. It’s an odd form of travelogue. I read it during the pandemic, and remember very little about it, other than liking it more than I expected.
Lydia is not a nice person. She is mentioned in Ghost Particles, which I wrote a couple of months back. I’ve got a few stories planned about her and her friends.
The original note that inspired this story was written at a writing workshop in 2003, and a friend saw it and said they liked the line. It’s taken me a very long time to write this piece.
Recommendations
A few years back I received my Spotify Unwrapped and realised most of the songs I listened to were twenty years old or more. I know Unwrapped is a marketing gimmick, but seeing this pattern in my musical tastes was useful.
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life listening to the same records, so I made a conscious effort to listen to new music in 2023. I started with some Spotify Playlists and soon the algorithm was suggesting new things in my Discover Weekly, other than just urging me to listen to heritage rock like Suicide and Sonic Youth.
My big discovery was the American Teenager album by Ethel Cain. I love this album as much as any of these records from years back. It’s (American) Gothic rock about religion and love, filled with lonesome night and road trips. But as much as I love this record, I love that it’s shown me that I can still be blown away by new music.
Moving into 2024
My new short story collection, Memetic Infection Hazards, is available on Etsy.
I’ve also release a zine with Dan Sumption about our little corner of counter-culture. The Mycelium Parish News is a roundup of interesting things to check out.
In 2024 I will be publishing True Clown Stories with Dan Sumption’s Peakrill Press. This is a collection I’ve been working on for years, and I’m very excited about this. I also want to write some new clown stories. There are a few more South Downs Way stories to come (probably finishing the Once Upon a Time in Brighton and Hove collection), then I will be writing about clowns.