I’m a 31-year old recruitment consultant who thinks he’s still in his mid-20s. I am too responsible for my own liking and I tell myself that it comes from getting older, owning a house and having a baby. In reality, I half-suspect that a lot of men look forward to reclusive older years when smoking a pipe, wearing slippers and retreating to a cabin in the woods is the ultimate aim. Certainly I tend to enjoy sitting in comfortable chairs, sipping tea, eating sausages and picking my nose.
When I’m not pretending to be old I spend lots of money and time on browsing, buying, listening and making music, anything from experimental bleeping to flamenco guitar and most things in between. Beatport has recently been a revelation to me and feeds my desire for underground and electronic music without having to spend six hours in the dark with sweating Eastern Europeans in Brixton squats and wondering how long I can remain dancing before my knees start spasming. However, I have diverse tastes and although much of what I own would probably be classed under Electronica & Dance in dumb record shops, I branch out into other, sometimes unexpected areas much to the amusement/horror of Kate. When I have moments to myself + the inclination + a dash of inspiration I fire up the sequencer and write my own which vascillates wildly between mellow ambience and jacking techno (sometimes in the same track). My biggest problem here though, is that I am great at beginnings, but not so good at endings, or an sort of progression for that matter. You’ll see.
I am an English graduate and read a reasonable amount, mostly modern literature, no trash apart from the odd bit of science fiction and spy novels – given the already huge number of “classic” reads in an ever expanding universe of literature, and that you will probably only ever read about 1000 books in your life (20 books a year for 50 years), why waste time reading Marian Keyes? However, I also appreciate that I am a snob in this and other respects and that I mostly read in the cause of betterment, not purely to escape.
Form and design are also important to me: architecture is the career I never started but wished I had. London is a smörgåsbord of architecture, old and new, tasteful and tasteless, minimal and elaborate, much of it impressive or thought provoking and an awful lot of it a dire, concrete vision of hell. Having said that, there is something about these grim urban landscapes that draws my photographic eye – there is a certain glamour in the grime, a sentiment that those living within it probably don’t share.
Conversely, I find the natural world to be consistently surprising, disarming, emotionally inspiring and endlessly fascinating. And this, I think, is where my heart lies. I may live in the suburbs of London, I may surround myself with electronic gadgets and souvenirs of the modern age, I may enjoy making and spending money, I may enjoy all the trappings of my life, but there is a simpler way to exist that appeals to me – living off the land, growing and eating your own produce, brewing your own beer, making your own entertainment and coexisting with your environment rather than imposing yourself on it. I know this sounds very right-on and idealistic, but the thought of it is alluring nonetheless.
