No one calls in sick to redundancy. If you’re in bed, you’re in trouble. Recently my flat mates, both girls, have been pulling ‘sickies’ on pretty much alternate days. It’s getting to the point where now it just seems like showing off. In fact I’m starting to feel a bit sorry for their employers.

I was a bit under the weather on the weekend. So what do you do when you’re not feeling great and are redundant? First up, sort out your recovery: rest, drink loads of water, buy honey and lemons galore, take that fag out of your mouth et cetera. Basically you’re not pulling a sickie on Monday like those employed pussies so sort yourself out.

In terms of amusement, have you heard of the Internet Archive? It’s a pretty mental concept, but basically someone’s made a site that relentlessly archives cultural artefacts. Imagine Google is Rain Man and he has a touch-screen face. Within this archive is a moving image section, and there you will find a repository of entertainment that only a very serious illness would give you time to explore fully.

http://www.archive.org/details/moviesandfilms

Charade with Audrey Hepburn and Carey Grant is worth a viddy.

12:25 pm  •  18 November 2009  •  view comments

AFX - I’m Self Employed

The optimism of this track is really talking to me right now. It’s off Analord #6 which was the seventh 12” Richard James released in the Analord series. With this series Richard deliberately exploited the unpredictable behaviour of his analogue equipment to create music from their malfunction. This creative misuse of materials massively appeals to me, and if you go to the root of any great invention you’ll often find a similar process there.

Thomas Edison, meet DJ Kool Herc.

5:20 pm  •  15 November 2009  •  view comments

First, a trip to the Barbican with AH to see Kusmirowski’s Bunker. It’s okay but they forgot to paint the ceiling = feet of clay. Then a walk to ICCO’s where we bumped into LM, an artist.

Artists make good company for the redundant: entrepreneurial types who have jobs they keep solely to fund whatever materials they need to buy. They won’t be judging your new job as a tea packer and they may even know of interesting work going. They also won’t subscribe to the school of slow and steady reward PAYE propagates: they may work for months / years without getting paid well before making a mint that puts your 20 years of payslips in perspective.

We said our goodbyes and wound our way to the Coliseum for the ENO’s Duke Bluebeard’s Castle. The pizza had left my mate really high on cheese so he was doing this weird cheese-dance all the way to the venue. The show was a bit of a Fritzl-fest and culminated in a pretty nice four-way snuff scene. There was no shortage of paint there I can assure you. We left before Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring as our feet were feeling really hot.

The photo is a dead bird I saw after my interview, it seems quite unusual.

12:11 pm  •  13 November 2009  •  view comments

Those of you who have been paying attention will already know what happened on day 19. After the final consultation meeting I spent a contemplative half-hour at the Serpentine before deciding it was time to cash some cheques.

Everything in my bank has it’s own infuriating little sign. “Take the wait off your feet” a chair suggests, “Your place or my pen box!” the pens cry out. The latter is clearly a question, so why have you used an exclamation mark! It was all beginning to get to me, then something happened. As the teller checked my arithmetic I noticed his name-badge, on which his job title title was ‘Displaced African’. The man was clearly white, which slightly wrong-footed me, then I remembered South Africa. I asked him whether the role of Displaced African was one they had in each branch, or if it was peculiar to this one.

He grinned from ear to ear, delighted I’d noticed. He didn’t know whether there were others, but he clearly did enjoy wearing that badge. He probably liked the rest of the signs too. So it turns out these labels may not have been made for customers after all, but for the staff. And on that basis I’m totally fine with them, because actually I don’t have to spend all day in a Barclays branch, but those guys do.

12:00 am  •  11 November 2009  •  view comments

On day 18 it rained pretty much continuously, so I had to Skype for human contact. Skype basically allows potentially redundant people to contact others (redundant or otherwise) without having to use money: a powerful weapon in any job-seeker’s arsenal.

I had a look at my contacts and saw my mum was online. My mother has an interesting relationship with technology: drawn to it as a moth to a bulb, it seems to delight and frustrate her in equal measure. She told me that recently she’d been shocked when a mysterious gentleman had appeared, unannounced and genie-like, on her screen. When she inquired what business he had with her, he replied merely that he had found her name interesting.

The next thirty minutes or so were spent painstakingly guiding her progress toward the Skype privacy menu. After much gnashing of teeth, we found the option that would prevent subsequent apparitions. I exasperatedly advised my poor mother that she needn’t double click everything. She has a habit of double-clicking everything that I find quite infuriating. “How exactly do you know when to single click, when to double click?” she asked. I conceded that actually it is all quite fuzzy: an instinct that my generation have unwittingly developed. I should be more patient with my mother. Sorry, mum. x

2:05 pm  •  10 November 2009  •  view comments

For today’s ECA I watched Jarvis Cocker and some other musicians perform a ‘jam’. As you’ll notice, I arrived just as they were finishing the sign. The idea is somewhere between Rankin Live and that hobbit of a musican from the T Mobile ads. The result was surprisingly musical: a directionless kraut-rock mercifully free of the ubiquitous bongos that usually scourge such sessions. Surprise bonus 1: later on it was accompanied by pole dancing. Surprise bonus 2: after the pole dancing this guy called Thomas Truax got on stage. At that point everything started happening at once.

It’s on for the next couple of days. Come down. Here’s the PR 411:
Free? Check.
Beanbags? Check.
Wi-Fi? TBC. I saw someone on a laptop.
Reasonably priced and endearingly named Tuck Shop? Check (but you’ve bought your own food with you right? Well done).
Employment census? Pre 5pm a good balance of employed to unemployed, a wave of high-pressure individuals moving in slowly during the evening.

If you are lucky enough to have a job you can watch the goings on from the comfort of your office. Just get ready to minimise that.

http://www.ustream.tv/channel/jarvis-live

I’ll give you a wave.

1:07 am  •  10 November 2009  •  view comments

When I see an adult on a bicycle, I do not despair for the future of the human race. H.G. Wells.

On Friday I received a curse from hell in email form asking me to review a recently purchased innertube and pump. I deleted the message and smiled wryly: for over a year I’ve averaged twenty miles a day with no punctures. Later that day at Hatton Garden, the inevitable happened. I got the bike home with occasional pumping and that evening was going to change the inner when a spin of the axle revealed how badly the hub needed a service. Feeling ‘in the mood’, I settled down to a few hours of grease and skimmed knuckles.

At this point the PR should note one or two things before reading on:

- Don’t smile wryly - the potentially redundant are in no position to behave with any degree of wryness.
- Stay in. Your money loves it, your bicycle loves it.
- Cycle. Travel faster than anything else in town, for free. It is also physically impossible to be in low spirits whilst cycling.
- Service your bike. You have time to learn, use it wisely. Put new knowledge to use and more coin in your denim. Here’s a good place to start.

A few years ago I was staying with a friend in Brooklyn who lent me his copy of a book called ‘Zen & The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’. From what I can remember it was a self-help book that basically articulates how good bike maintenance is for your soul through weird quasi-fiction. (In return I lent him ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being’ which he told me he found ‘too preachy’. Since then I’ve pretty much stopped lending people books on the basis that those I lend them to may massively disappoint me).

Anyway for me the joy in the pattern of taking apart, fixing and reassembling extends further than the physical: carrying out exactly the same process of de and reconstruction on ideas and businesses is also good fun. The result can then form a basis for some creativity. But what makes executing this instinct on a bicycle particularly satisfying may be that there’s only one right answer, and no one needs to ‘buy’ it.

11:21 pm  •  8 November 2009  •  view comments

John has won five league titles, with five different teams. He explains his success in the league is a direct result of having all day to think of nothing but the game ahead.

“Painters and decorators are some of the greatest thinkers in the world.”

He grins and we laugh together, but I think he may have a point. I have been troubled for some time by the fact that I currently receive information at such a rate that it is physically impossible for me to examine all of it properly. Even if that were all I did all day, I would not scratch the surface. I am troubled because I cannot digest it all, which frustrates my curiosity. But primarily, I am troubled because I suspect that in the long term this torrent of data may injure my ability to think clearly.

I’m reminded of my visit to Southern India, where in the backwaters of Kerala, fertiliser running off agricultural land had created a suffocating algal bloom in the waterways.

Today marked the end of my work as a painter. It was a success, the garden is much improved. But riding home across London I felt a slight sense of melancholy as I realised that I was going to miss John. He was, as he would tell me, “The best of a bad lot.”

12:20 am  •  6 November 2009  •  view comments

Some retailers are making it really easy to see how you can save money right now. I appreciate it when they draw my eye to these bargains with fluorescent tabs because it means that I can go on autopilot in the supermarket and just buy what they suggest.

NoNoNo my friend. If you agreed with the above you are not ready for potential redundancy. Get back to work. When your source of income is uncertain you must be wiley as a fox. Which shape of pasta is cheapest? I’ll tell you! Spaghetti. Which toothpaste should I buy? HEY STUPID! All toothpastes are equally effective! Your eyes must dart around the supermarket and seek out the most nutritious combination of food for the lowest possible price. As you see above, the supermarket will use its accumulated wealth of arcane and diabolical knowledge to trick you and your simple human brain - but you must be wary! Remember: a large number on a fluorescent background is still no more than a number. Multiply it by two - is it not doubled?

Worried you will forget this most important lesson under the glare of the supermarket’s lights? Allay your fears: print and fold this post into amulet form and wear around your neck at all times. Take heart, I will be there with you…

11:19 pm  •  3 November 2009  •  view comments

I noticed this on the floor of the entrance to our studios for the first time today and it cleared up any doubts I’d had about the former purpose of the building. When exactly did people stop doing awesome mosaics and start gutting pubs? This is not progress.

The former pub I’ve been working in the past days shared a name with my local back east. The Albion I know is a strange affair set in a Mock-Tudor corner-house. The owner has successfully covered most surfaces in flags and football references centred around his idols: the Baggies. Look up and you’ll notice a strange array of air conditioning units, redundant since the smoking ban. Ceiling greebling. They’ve got some decent ales and if it’s not too busy they’ll serve cups of Bovril: a welcome rarity. There’s also a guy who comes round selling fresh pots of winkles with salt and vinegar for 50p. Winkles and Bovril, that’s what you’ll have when you’re redundant. Winkles and Bovril.

I seem to remember a few of us making a pact, that if it ever went up for sale, we’d buy it together and run it. I hope we’d be organised enough to act on those words, because if that Albion were ever gutted and sliced into studios it would be a shame.

1:24 am  •  3 November 2009  •  view comments