I would say I don’t suffer from writer’s block, but since starting this so called blog I have been phenomenally unproductive. So it’s not block but blogk and has little to do with having nought to write about but, moreover, an excuse riding on the back of a haughty idle beast twirling cane with one hand, dandy moustache with other. I’ve got this never-used, though much practised line that goes something like … now hang on a mo, I’m not sure how it starts or ends but somewhere in the flabby middle there’s mumbling about putting something worth saying in a what? Speak up! In a story? Ah, right, yes, I see. So the idea is that anything with any weight will find its way into a finely-wrought tale of something or other. Absolute Codswallop! Poppycock etc. Always satisfying to find a reason to use these (esp. the latter) outdated words. Perhaps I do have a point though … the truth is I’ve been gently pushed on stage by an article by George Sanders in The New Yorker—he’s one of my favourite still-alive people—calling for young writers (steps back into the wings on account of age only to be roughly pushed back almost losing control, teetering on the edge above a eye-rolling audience) to record this unique period: that of quarantine during Covid-19 pandemic.
What d’ya make of it all Mr Attmere? Your unique take?
Well it’s interesting you should ask that because—would you care for a slice of virtual banana cake? Just out the oven …
Yes … um er no, I’m trying to cut down. (laughs) This stay at home lark’s putting on the pounds. You were saying?
Focus is a problem. I mean, I’ve got a computer tab bar chocka with stuff I want to read or watch or study or submit to. What was the question?
Your response to this period of enforced isolation?
New habits. I think we’ll get into new, not necessarily better, habits. I, for example, have stopped wearing trousers, which is actually quite liberating.
I’ve stopped picking my nose, just because of the whole hands near the face thing.
Well done you. But you see …
The trouser thing though … surely you’re not suggesting we ditch our strides.
My point is … no, of course not but, well, perhaps men will consider skirts. Not my point. I’m being facetious, ridiculous to propel a far less far-fetched notion forward: that humans may find themselves liberated from damaging habits. They may happen upon a new currency, a forgotten one founded not on want but on a forgotten need for kindness.
Paul Attmere, Writer 