The Battle of Epping Forest

Visits to Green Man in Fitzrovia with A and walking in Chingford with Dah-Dah produce two conflicting pieces of advice. One maintains that life is a series of red and black decisions and that gambling is sometimes the only way to get anywhere. The second, dismissing the idea and notion of Saudi out of hand. Both have merits.

My knowledge of London - the greatest city in the World i- s incredible and encyclopedic compared to many but woefully thin compared to others.

Over the course of the past twelve or so months, I have become obsessed with Epping Forest. To a WNW London boy, it was always just somewhere where the < insert name of any east end gang through history you care to choose >punished people and buried the bodies. I just assumed that after our civilisation imploded and all written records were lost, future generations would spend ages trying to work out what the cornerstones of the religion were that led to such a jumbled, haphazard and disorganised burial ground. I believed that there were so many murdered corpses in the forest that I figured dog owners letting their beloved pet off the lead would inevitably return home with a human arm or leg.

Well. It turns out this may not be true.

I’ve started to visit more regularly. Sunshine and Ice Cream/ the damp and Scrabble with Hel in Wanstead and getting lost in Theydon Bois are highlights of my year. So it’s with a bit of disappointment that it was near Chingford where the most negative and dismissive thoughts about Saudi Arabia were aired.

I told Dah Dah all about the offer that was on the table. Money, role, accommodation, tax (lack of) and everything. I shared the benefits that I could see but highlighted a couple of fears. Specifically, my flat, tax (lack of) and my parents. It was weird. Each point was ticked off, it felt as if it was in turn with a complete focus on the negative or potential negative. It seemed that the issues I raised as fears were thrown back as if being told that I had already seen how poor the idea was and that there was little point in thinking or exploring any more detail. The total negativity surprised me. Even where friends had highlighted worries, fears or constraints they had tempered by the sense of opportunity and adventure.

I didn’t push it. Dah Dah was tired. I was tired. We focused on other stuff. It was a good day. We didn't stumble over any dead bodies.

I have a complex relationship with Dah Dah. Apparently, since I was a child, I always lived in his shadow - and maybe that is true - but I love him so dearly and respect his ideas and thoughts so much. Believe me, I’ve pissed him off – often unintentionally and sometimes knowingly – but he has always come through for me.

He is also one of only two people I have ever punched. And that was accidental. I was about eight years old.

Perhaps his worries and concerns are valid. They certainly need to be thought through but I can't help but feel a bit sore. I value his opinion more than he probably knows but right now I feel so lost and hopeless at home that Saudi looks too good an option to shoot like a fairground duck. I really think that if the duck is nurtured, it could swim.

That duck analogy is shockingly shite. But that is how it is.

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For the record, the only other person I have punched was a stranger at a Dr Who Convention. It was deliberate. I was about twenty six years old.