Diaries: February 23-27, 2022
Public humiliation, public embarrassment, and a spot of squirrel sex
February 23, Leyton, London
I was talking to a friend about Sally Rooney tonight, and it reminded me that I’d met her once. It was at a book signing, which is why she wasn’t included in my list of celebrity sightings. I don’t think it really counts as a sighting if you queue up to see a person who’s obliged to spend a minute or two chatting with you while they sign some books. Through book signings I’ve also met Ben Lerner, Hallie Rubenhold and the comedian Lee Evans. Ben Lerner was erudite and interesting, Hallie Rubenhold was funny and insightful, and Lee Evans broke my heart.
There’s context, obviously. When I was a teenager I spent a lot of time with my stepbrother, who didn’t have any trouble getting attention from any girls we ran into. I on the other hand had quite a bit of trouble getting attention from said girls, particularly when he was around. He didn’t go to the same school as me, so you can imagine my chagrin when it turned out most of the girls in my year thought he was very handsome. Questions such as “is he really your brother?” contained the implication that they didn’t have the same opinion of me. So when my stepbrother and I went to have our copies of Lee Evans’ autobiography signed, and Lee Evans looked up while signing my stepbrother’s and exclaimed to whoever was listening, “Crikey, he’s good looking, isn’t he?”, I thought, even you Lee, even you.
He didn’t say anything to me.
February 24, Leyton, London
I looked out the window earlier to see some squirrels having sex on the garden fence. At least, that’s what I thought they were doing. One would occasionally hump the other, then they’d run around the trees and bushes for a while, and then they’d get back to it. Unsure whether I was definitely watching them go at it, or whether they were just messing around, I did what anyone else would do, and typed ‘squirrel sex’ into Google.
What came up was a YouTube video, which confirmed my suspicions. I had been watching squirrels have sex. If I felt weird earlier watching them through the window, the video made me feel downright creepy. It’s a real close-up view of those squirrels. If I felt like a voyeur, I can only imagine what the person filming it must have felt like. Although, the whimsical soundtrack put over the video, and the fact that it showed plays, probably implies the person behind the camera was absolutely fine with what they were recording. Not me. The main thought I had while I shut my laptop lid was that I must remember to delete my browser history.
February 27, Fulham, London
Today my girlfriend and I went to visit the incredible Hurlingham Books in Fulham. If you like books, more books than you’ve ever seen in one place in your life, you’ll like this place. It looks straight out of an episode of Hoarders. Books are piled up all against the windows, on every shelf, on the floor, on any available surface. I found The Complete Polysyllabic Spree by Nick Hornby, his collection of columns for the Believer magazine that I’d resigned to never finding, so I was sold on the place.
The thing I loved most about it was that upon talking to the woman at the counter (and I use the term counter loosely here, since it was mainly a corner with a chair and a card machine, surrounded by piles of books) I discovered that this wasn’t their entire stock. It looked like there must be tens of thousands in the shop, but in case that wasn’t enough, there’s a warehouse down the road with a cool two million. I enjoyed that the woman told us this and said, “in case you need any more,” as if she could instantly tell that we were two people who had been waiting our entire lives for someone to tell us they had a warehouse with two million books in it.
Hurlingham reminded me of a bookshop we visited last autumn when we were in Paris. It was down a side street and ran by an older American man who looked like he slept in the shop. The only reason I thought that wasn’t the case is that there was nowhere for him to actually physically lie down.
We tried to reach a book which was in the middle of a very precarious looking pile, which for good measure was topped with CDs. Of course, the pile toppled, sending both books and CDs all over the floor in a clatter that probably alerted half the neighbourhood. Of course it did. I stood there, red faced and wishing with all the world for someone to kill me, however they liked. Then we frantically scrabbled to pick up all the books and CDs, mumbling apologies that didn’t even seem to register with the American, who looked nonplussed, like this happened all the time.
We didn’t even buy the book.