I love hearing stories. Here are a few which inspired me to write Lockdown.
A physiotherapist I had back in London told me a story that stayed with me. As she stretched my neck and shoulders, she told me about another client she had, who was in a wheelchair. She had to go to him, as he was housebound. Every evening, the couple who lived across the street would put on a little show for him. He would park his wheelchair in front of his window and watch. I said something about exhibitionism, and my physio said, 'It takes two, doesn't it? The one who performs and the one who watches.'
She was a great story teller, and had wonderful taste in music. When she told me this narrative, I remember we were listening to a new up-and-coming singer named Amy Whitehouse. The music was played on a brand new device called an ipod, which looked like a rectangle with a pin wheel, and could contain thousands of hours worth of music. That's how long ago this happened. Her treatments rooms were in a basement that had formerly been a bakery in Clerkenwell. I would go to this subterranean cave and emerge feeling hyper-alive, as you do when pain has been relieved.
This story kicked around in my mind for several years. When I wrote this story, it was soon after spending time with one of my cousins. She had been a police officer, who was severely injured and forced to retire in her thirties. Looking at her, she appeared to be a normal, healthy woman. Her scars weren't on display, so her pain was often not taken seriously. At the same time, a friend of mine had a bad reaction to steroid medication prescribed for dermatitis, and told me about the stares of strangers, and children saying, 'Mum, what happened to her face?'. Their experiences touched me deeply.
Around this time, I started teaching English to a retired couple, who in their working lives had been police officers. I noticed how one of them would often look out the window, just to make sure everything was in order. As someone who could and has walked past a burning building, I admired this vigilance. I also loved the TV show Frasier, and my favourite characters were the Dad and his dog. There was an episode where the Dad starts observing his neighbours through a telescope, and starts a friendship with a woman who lives in an adjacent building.
And finally, there was a letter written to Mariella Frostrup and published in The Guardian. A woman's lesbian neighbours never closed their curtains, and it upset this woman so much, she felt inspired to write to an Agony Aunt for advice. Ms Frostrup recommended this woman write a sign that said 'Close your curtains!' or to address a letter to 'the lesbians with no curtains'. It gave me a good laugh.
I got in trouble from a friend of mine for using the word 'cripple'. At what point does a word stop being descriptive and become pejorative? Was this word always one of derision? I remember a resident listed in the Doomsday Book was named 'Cedric the Cripple'. Is that what he called himself, or was that a name given to him that he didn't like? I have no idea, but the word made me think.
Pain is a tricky topic to write about. We've all experienced physical pain at some time or other, and we're often competitive about our pain. Pain management is also a tricky one.
Finally, I am a sucker for tales of unlikely friendships. They say you can choose your friends but not your family, though is this really true? There are various family members I choose not to associate with, and I know I'm not the only human to have made decisions like these. Often friendships spring from geographic proximity and circumstance, although they might remain despite these factors. I'm often astonished who I've met in my life, and the unlikeliness of our acquaintance.
Life never ceases to surprise and perturb.
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