On the promise that I would make it to a dinner with Gregory and Nina at Leigh’s remarkable (if not unique) rent controlled co-op in Haberfield, I dragged myself, exhausted, from a cantankerous day at work through the pouring rain to a bus stop on Marrickville Road. Two whole hours, four pointless phone calls and three buses later I found myself wet and miserable on his doorstep. I then promptly took off my wet socks and shoes and stuck them on his heater as I poured myself a glass of red wine (from a bottle!) and as I proceeded to bitch and moan, my sock caught alight and set off the fire alarm.
Despite all the drama, a rather pleasant evening was had and it reminded me very much of my travails à sortir in Paris, where there was a Metro (admittedly 50 time more efficient), lengthy walks and interminably bad weather to deal with. None of these things ever prevented me from going out and seeing friends and exhibitions. If anything the journeys made the experience markedly good in contrast.
I wonder if life is phenomenologically richer when sharp contrasts are experienced on a day-to-day basis. The French seem to live an oddly paradoxical existence of Third World hardship (e.g. public sanitation) and obscene luxury (e.g. soft cheeses). When everything runs smoothly and you can operate on automatic controls, maybe we shut out parts of life that really add another dimension to our existence. Now the idea of appreciating something you have had to work for isn’t anything new, this I know quite well. However, I wonder in these modern times, if our pursuit of experiential richness may very well be satisfied by the removal of some conveniences.
Although I hardly call a working public transport system a ‘convenience’, would we be more thankful for our safe arrival at a destination if we had to take twice as long to get there?
Despite these sincerely naive reflections, I’m absolutely certain my life would be at least 3 times more efficient and my amount of personal happiness squared by itself plus the power of infinity if I had a zippy red sports car to get around in.
Consequently, at least one sock was saved, having been so sodden with rain it would have been impervious to a blowtorch. The charred sock remains cooling on Leigh’s floor.