The idea that someone working as people often used to work- at the same job, year after year- in any way diminishes them, is rather startling to me. I'm an artist, from a family of artists, but perhaps because of my roots in the working class, and my life spent in meditative practices, I don't see the way this waiter or that man in a shop the same way you do. Seeking new experiences wears thin when the experience of living in itself provides endless variety.
I don't think that this is what Mr. Kureishi writes about. He says that he found Francesco to be an interesting man and he was just wondering about how his life would have been different if he hadn't worked in the same place. Also, he was just trying to ask questions that might make people think about their lives in the given context. I liked it.
I knew a man named Sid, who owned a small workshop in town. It was a throwback to the early 20th century where there would be garages tucked away behind painted double-doors in residential areas, in what had probably once been stables. He used to employ a lot of rudderless young men and they would take on various mechanical and building projects. I would often see Sid at a bar that I was used to frequent, back in the days when I was an afternoon drinker. It was the kind of place where a regular could walk in and go behind the bar and make themselves a pint of tea and no-one would raise an eyebrow. The owner, who was absent from the business, was apparently a stockbroker who had taken a beating in the crash of 1987. The place had originally been a mortuary. I once took a wrong turn while coming back from the toilet and found myself in the kitchen where the chef was cooking a pan of mussels, stark bollock-naked.
Sid was profoundly dyslexic. Like many men his age this was not diagnosed while he was at school. He taught himself to read as an adult. He had a turbulent youth. There was a child – a boy who never knew him. He signed away his rights as a father. Towards the end of his life he was on the receiving end of a miscarriage of justice that saw him convicted of assault. His duty solicitor barely spoke to him and built a case around the police report that was biased against him. He got five years. I used to go and see him up at Blundeston, a stone's throw from Norwich. I would ride the mini-bus to the prison with all the women on their way to visit husbands and partners who had been locked-up for decades.
Sid was very angry. It was constantly simmering in the background but he never let it turn to bitterness or slow him down. He was a busy man in prison, building aviaries, working as a listener – a point of contact for other prisoners who were having a hard time. He traded packets of crisps for stolen art supplies and made me all these great birthday cards. In the prison workshop, he carved a small wooden box that has since passed into my ownership. Inside the box there are a small quantity of his ashes.
When he was released from prison, he moved to a first floor flat, above a launderette, in Ipswich. To access the property, you had to follow a narrow alleyway around three sides of the building, then go up a metal staircase. The only thing I really remember about the inside of the place was the glittery toilet seat. He ran a business selling engine parts on Ebay. He fixed-up old mopeds. He purchased a light aircraft to work on with his dad, who was in the early stages of Alzheimer's. The last time I visited him in Ipswich, I noticed he was in the middle of reading 'Across The River And Into The Trees' by Ernest Hemingway. The protagonist of the novel – a U.S. Colonel – dies at the end as a result of a heart condition. You might call it foreshadowing.
A couple of days before Sid died, he visited me out of the blue, in Southend. He told me he was having chest pains, which his doctor had attributed to stress. He had recently acquired a large boat. He was about to head off for France for a month where he had property that he was in the process of fixing up. A neighbour had taken advantage of his incarceration and stolen a piece of his land.
Sid's body was found on his doorstep by the postman. He had been about to leave for France. He must have stepped out the front door and into the afterlife. He was carrying so much money that the police initially suspected foul play.
When my mother told me he had died, my immediate thought was 'Who's going to fix everything?' Because that's all he ever did. Whenever I walk into town, I pass a wall around an amusement park that he helped to build. It's a good wall. At his funeral there were people from all walks of life with whom he'd formed working relationships. He was a very interesting man. I still think about him.
Unlike Sid, I am profoundly boring. I became aware that I was boring from a very early age. I will die boring, and it will not bother me in the slightest. There was a time in my life when you could argue that my life was interesting; when I either actively sought out interesting situations or allowed them to develop around me. Even then, I was never interesting. I was analogous to one of those prosaic dioramas that you find lodged in snow-globes, that only appear to take on a semblance of life when the flakes of an artificial blizzard are swirling around them.
My interests are idiosyncratic. I do not care to explain them in any depth. I lead a life of quiet routine and silent joy. I am awoken at a deathly hour of the morning by one of the rider mowers on the golf course, or by the machine they use to clean up fallen leaves, which has the noise profile of an idling 747. I get up and I exercise, in the semi-dark now that it is Autumn. As I drag a kettlebell around my head, in a warped elliptical orbit, I imagine that it is a comet passing through the black void of space. I sit down in front of a computer and work on a novel that will have a very limited appeal. Periodically, I will ask a chameleon, who has been dead now for over a year, his opinion on a sentence, as I did when he was alive:
“Frederic, what do you think of this?”
My pleasures are fleeting and insular: The other evening I walked to a nearby parade of shops to collect an Amazon package from the lockers at the Nisa. The sun was setting. There was a little faded pink in among the scudding grey clouds. As I rounded the corner of the Broadway, I could hear a hillbilly melody being picked out on a banjo by the owner of an empty barbers shop. On the other side of the street, a broken line of swallows were perched all along the tiled apex of the rooftops. These are the things that I want from the world; small simple things that I put away in my memory. I think that, to be interesting, you have to give something back. You have to engage. I give very little.
No… that was a lovely witty honest comment you just wrote and ı so enjoyed it. There you are ! You gave back even with one story about Sid and yourself! I love having a boring life too as overstimulation gives ne high anxiety but ı cerainly have a fun life in other ways thank god🙏🙏
You write beautifully; you seem to be truly grounded and a master of the present moment; many of us strive a lifetime for such qualities. Boring is essentially meaningless- a perception. If your mind is interested your life is not boring.
I’ve taught in the same primary school for 33 years - I’ve always thought of it as a way to observe & reflect on the changes that inevitably happen.
If I’m still, it’s easier (for me) to make connections & see patterns. It’s like the “control” test for all the other difficulties & challenges in life.
It’s so interesting to see the next generation of families come to school (though a weird reminder of the passage of time…)
Hopefully that’s how it is for Francesco when he sees long lost customers like yourselves.
Not going to lie though, the same 40 mile round trip to work remains a pain in the arse.
Thank you for writing here & expressing the pleasures & aggravations… both can be the same or worse changing jobs rehujstjy because the ‘work’ is so tedious .. or the employer is a harridan, sexist pig(gy) or… use your imagination.. secretarial work is tedious very quickly no matter how many high end businesses or trades ( law, medicine, education, politics… etc) …
I love that Francesco says he’s doing just fine… the position even in a ‘bad day’ offers the choice of a variety of folks from near ( ones who know & live him & vice versa) and far, ones who bring new reports on their world, their challenges etc. Always stimulating… new people 😄
I don’t think that anyone can really judge whether or not another person’s life is boring. Only that it might not suit them personally. Sometimes people’s lives are in any case constrained by factors such as family circumstances, mental or physical issues, money, and they are doing their best with the hand that has been dealt. (I’ve just read that back and think that I sound boring! )
This is an interesting commentary, and a reminder that I really ought to go back to Sartre.
I'd like to imagine Francesco has chosen to work in order to live, not to live in order to work. Perhaps Francesco leads a full, interesting life with friends, art, nature, music and community outside of his work shifts. Or, perhaps, I'm just feeling sunny and optimistic on a perfect Autumn day.
Either way, your post speaks to the "slices" we see of people; it causes me to wonder how I present myself -- what parts people see in me and the impression that makes. Thanks for getting me to think today!
I am a dental hygienist and was working in the same office for 35 years. I'm still doing it. My dad the dentist used to say, "you can teach a monkey to scale teeth." Maybe so but I have found it a great way to make a living and learn about people. Every single human has at least one great story to tell and the connections to my patients have been deep and sometimes, long lasting. But yes, I'm probably boring.....I prefer to say I have low serotonin needs.
But isnt there a big difference between being boring and living boringly? I think ı live a boring life and love it because overs stimulation is very hard for me but ı dont think I AM boring. Do you think you are boring?
I find it interesting that these days (or maybe it was always like this) people judge others by what they 'Do'.. Every meeting with others /strangers the first question one is asked 'what do you do?' and one dutifully answered this question 'I work as a ....' etc. I look forward to answering "I am a secret agent ...' or whatever comes into ones head at the time. How much more interesting one might seem!! Is that particular question, and its answer, a really reflection of how one feels about oneself? And writing this at 80 I think I have had interesting times/work and boring times too...it's life I guess. But I continue to think no-one should be judged / valued or otherwise by their work and not who they are in essence although it is difficult to ask this!!
I think the prople that matter and know us well anyway dont give a damn about what we do. I have only two criterias for friends personally . Kindness and interestingness.
May I offer a different take on Francesco? People like him are fixtures. They provide a haven to return to for those of us who flit about, a place where we are known. What a treasure! Being able to hold the same job through changes in management etc., is no small feat. For me, the secretary at my kids' school was like that. She worked there for decades up until she died at 96. She was an institution. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her. Five-hundred people came to her funeral. She was someone who made a "small" job big.
Yes and notice that Hanif sounded like he was pleased the guy was still there. The same thing happened to me at a large breakfast room in a London hotel (The Tavistock in Tavistock Sq). Went there in the mid 00's, saw a tall but stooped elderly, distinctive man who was clearly in charge of things. Went back nearly 15 years later - he was still there in the same place, doing exactly the same thing. I was stunned as apart from anything else I thought he would be long dead!
The most obvious experience of this is as you say, school - teachers who taught us are still there when we are well intp our maturity.
Year after year I sit in the same rooms and write books. Nick Kent once said one of them—I think ‘Lipstick Traces’ (and your bringing that in as part of the everyday life of ‘The Black Album’ remains one of proudest moments)—that it read like something cooked up in a room with a lot of books and records: well, yes. I’ve often felt as if that makes me a boring person anywhere off the page. So I feel kinship with the pizza man
If Francesco wants to work in Pizza Express for - I presume - most of his working life what odds? The failure of imagination here in my eyes is the failure to exercise empathy about what makes him tick. And a writer who can't use their imagination, who isn't curious about people, who goes with Sartre's caricature of a waiter, is taking life for granted. Francesco may not be limited at all by his job. He may actually feel fulfilled, and - dare I say it - happy. One of the happiest times in my own life was working Front of House in Sadler's Wells. I worked in the Staff Bistro, as bar cellar man, on the bars in the evening, on the Stage Door some weekends, and helped build the studio theatre. They also serve who only stand and wait.
Isn’t it just that people are different? Did you talk to Francisco how he feels about his own life? I can imagine that he enjoys talking to people and has a role that he’s comfortable in that suits him. Doing something for a long time means someone gets really expert at it - and there’s often pleasure in that too. I often marvel at people who never move - they stay in the small town they grew up and went to school in. I know from social media that plenty of people I went to school with have done exactly that - and I find it bewildering- because for me I couldn’t wait to get out of places I found boring, stultifying, lacking in any adventure or excitement- it felt to me like all the good stuff was happening elsewhere (it was). But… many people like to stay in the same place. Maybe they have the pleasure of long history, generational family connections to a place, and roots that I don’t have. Maybe this is a loss… but it’s just not my life. But back to Pizza Express - if Francisco is boring, aren’t you also boring since you went there again and again and again? It can’t have been that boring there as you enjoyed the repetition.
As an iron rod rider now slowly and awkwardly dismounting, I have been lucky enough to acquire another skill, making pots. My teacher and friend is a master of his craft. He makes beautiful functional pieces. He has been working in the same space for over forty years. He makes a range of work, from espresso cups to moon jars, all with a quiet that makes them very good company.
He’s not bored, or boring, he is engaged by every step of the process he has created. We worked it out that his teapot s require seventy different processes from clay to pouring a cuppa. Much of the time is occupied with actively not thinking, but making. Hands working the clay, muscle memory being allowed to remember, skill channeling intention. It is physically demanding. But never boring… for him.
I direct tv drama, starting out making soap and developing, over years, to big high profile series… and now I have returned to soap. I get to teach directors how to direct. Like Francesco, I am working in the same Albert Square or Holby where I worked thirty something years ago. And I really value being here again. Like grandchildren are an opportunity to do it better, this is a place I love and understand, and I get to practice my skills in. It’s the same and not the same, because I know more now.
I too enjoy each of the repeated seventy stages it takes to pour my cuppa.
Being a potter taught me how to be a happier director. Happy to be in one place.
Even sex can be boring. We are neither our jobs nor our amusements & therefore it’s impossible to evaluate the worth of others’ lives. Better to not try since we need always to work on our own. I’d rather read Beowulf than Sartre.
I don't think it's possible to be boring as boredom is something that must be felt about someone else, not about yourself. And if you hang around the crossroads of life you will inevitably find someone who's jam is your jam, or dough ball is your kind of dough ball. Of course not everybody will find a person interesting or engaging and will gravitate to the ones where they do, but I would say that this is more about the other rather than the one. Your friend telling you she thought she might be boring sounds a bit egoic and self interested to me, because in discourse most people are far more invested in being found interesting and listened to and admired than they are giving that to someone. So often the best way to not "bore", is to want to pay attention to the other and engage with them. It's not about social performance, it's about receptivity. Not sycophancy, but genuine interest - which if you are to apply it to most you meet requires a bit of faith that no one is truly "boring"; they may have a repetitive job and no travel experience and only like digestive biscuits with their tea, but all humanity is going through the same angst, the same passions, the same fears, the same loves, and it's the coping mechanisms to get through that which define our lives. Some people choose safety and repetition, others choose adventure and a constant drive for the new, and some are simply kyboshed by life and are barely holding on, and their coping mechanisms may be hidden and strange and are all interesting ways to deal with this condition of life.
I hope that wasn't a boring answer, but if it is , it's your call - ha!
It does indeed - in the mind of the receiver. If someone is excruciatingly explaining every tiny detail of something they obviously find whatever it is fascinating, or themselves fascinating. You don't have to agree.
The one thing I did not consider is when we find ourselves bored with who we are. That's something else and would point far more to what Hanif is speaking of in terms of in evitable future and reaching out for new experiences or embracing change.
Hmm.
The idea that someone working as people often used to work- at the same job, year after year- in any way diminishes them, is rather startling to me. I'm an artist, from a family of artists, but perhaps because of my roots in the working class, and my life spent in meditative practices, I don't see the way this waiter or that man in a shop the same way you do. Seeking new experiences wears thin when the experience of living in itself provides endless variety.
I don't think that this is what Mr. Kureishi writes about. He says that he found Francesco to be an interesting man and he was just wondering about how his life would have been different if he hadn't worked in the same place. Also, he was just trying to ask questions that might make people think about their lives in the given context. I liked it.
I knew a man named Sid, who owned a small workshop in town. It was a throwback to the early 20th century where there would be garages tucked away behind painted double-doors in residential areas, in what had probably once been stables. He used to employ a lot of rudderless young men and they would take on various mechanical and building projects. I would often see Sid at a bar that I was used to frequent, back in the days when I was an afternoon drinker. It was the kind of place where a regular could walk in and go behind the bar and make themselves a pint of tea and no-one would raise an eyebrow. The owner, who was absent from the business, was apparently a stockbroker who had taken a beating in the crash of 1987. The place had originally been a mortuary. I once took a wrong turn while coming back from the toilet and found myself in the kitchen where the chef was cooking a pan of mussels, stark bollock-naked.
Sid was profoundly dyslexic. Like many men his age this was not diagnosed while he was at school. He taught himself to read as an adult. He had a turbulent youth. There was a child – a boy who never knew him. He signed away his rights as a father. Towards the end of his life he was on the receiving end of a miscarriage of justice that saw him convicted of assault. His duty solicitor barely spoke to him and built a case around the police report that was biased against him. He got five years. I used to go and see him up at Blundeston, a stone's throw from Norwich. I would ride the mini-bus to the prison with all the women on their way to visit husbands and partners who had been locked-up for decades.
Sid was very angry. It was constantly simmering in the background but he never let it turn to bitterness or slow him down. He was a busy man in prison, building aviaries, working as a listener – a point of contact for other prisoners who were having a hard time. He traded packets of crisps for stolen art supplies and made me all these great birthday cards. In the prison workshop, he carved a small wooden box that has since passed into my ownership. Inside the box there are a small quantity of his ashes.
When he was released from prison, he moved to a first floor flat, above a launderette, in Ipswich. To access the property, you had to follow a narrow alleyway around three sides of the building, then go up a metal staircase. The only thing I really remember about the inside of the place was the glittery toilet seat. He ran a business selling engine parts on Ebay. He fixed-up old mopeds. He purchased a light aircraft to work on with his dad, who was in the early stages of Alzheimer's. The last time I visited him in Ipswich, I noticed he was in the middle of reading 'Across The River And Into The Trees' by Ernest Hemingway. The protagonist of the novel – a U.S. Colonel – dies at the end as a result of a heart condition. You might call it foreshadowing.
A couple of days before Sid died, he visited me out of the blue, in Southend. He told me he was having chest pains, which his doctor had attributed to stress. He had recently acquired a large boat. He was about to head off for France for a month where he had property that he was in the process of fixing up. A neighbour had taken advantage of his incarceration and stolen a piece of his land.
Sid's body was found on his doorstep by the postman. He had been about to leave for France. He must have stepped out the front door and into the afterlife. He was carrying so much money that the police initially suspected foul play.
When my mother told me he had died, my immediate thought was 'Who's going to fix everything?' Because that's all he ever did. Whenever I walk into town, I pass a wall around an amusement park that he helped to build. It's a good wall. At his funeral there were people from all walks of life with whom he'd formed working relationships. He was a very interesting man. I still think about him.
Unlike Sid, I am profoundly boring. I became aware that I was boring from a very early age. I will die boring, and it will not bother me in the slightest. There was a time in my life when you could argue that my life was interesting; when I either actively sought out interesting situations or allowed them to develop around me. Even then, I was never interesting. I was analogous to one of those prosaic dioramas that you find lodged in snow-globes, that only appear to take on a semblance of life when the flakes of an artificial blizzard are swirling around them.
My interests are idiosyncratic. I do not care to explain them in any depth. I lead a life of quiet routine and silent joy. I am awoken at a deathly hour of the morning by one of the rider mowers on the golf course, or by the machine they use to clean up fallen leaves, which has the noise profile of an idling 747. I get up and I exercise, in the semi-dark now that it is Autumn. As I drag a kettlebell around my head, in a warped elliptical orbit, I imagine that it is a comet passing through the black void of space. I sit down in front of a computer and work on a novel that will have a very limited appeal. Periodically, I will ask a chameleon, who has been dead now for over a year, his opinion on a sentence, as I did when he was alive:
“Frederic, what do you think of this?”
My pleasures are fleeting and insular: The other evening I walked to a nearby parade of shops to collect an Amazon package from the lockers at the Nisa. The sun was setting. There was a little faded pink in among the scudding grey clouds. As I rounded the corner of the Broadway, I could hear a hillbilly melody being picked out on a banjo by the owner of an empty barbers shop. On the other side of the street, a broken line of swallows were perched all along the tiled apex of the rooftops. These are the things that I want from the world; small simple things that I put away in my memory. I think that, to be interesting, you have to give something back. You have to engage. I give very little.
And yet, your beautifully written memoir is one of the least boring things I’ve ever read.
Nah, you just gave an essay to me. Thank you
You write beautifully Sam, thank you for a lovely read
No… that was a lovely witty honest comment you just wrote and ı so enjoyed it. There you are ! You gave back even with one story about Sid and yourself! I love having a boring life too as overstimulation gives ne high anxiety but ı cerainly have a fun life in other ways thank god🙏🙏
What you just wrote is not boring at all, maybe a little too talkative, but certainly not boring. You should write a novel on Sam.
Cor! That was amazing! Thank you.
You write beautifully; you seem to be truly grounded and a master of the present moment; many of us strive a lifetime for such qualities. Boring is essentially meaningless- a perception. If your mind is interested your life is not boring.
Dear Sam,
You are the opposite of boring.
Leslie
Meh.
I’ve taught in the same primary school for 33 years - I’ve always thought of it as a way to observe & reflect on the changes that inevitably happen.
If I’m still, it’s easier (for me) to make connections & see patterns. It’s like the “control” test for all the other difficulties & challenges in life.
It’s so interesting to see the next generation of families come to school (though a weird reminder of the passage of time…)
Hopefully that’s how it is for Francesco when he sees long lost customers like yourselves.
Not going to lie though, the same 40 mile round trip to work remains a pain in the arse.
I've taught in several schools. Each was different in many ways but the basic problems are the same everywhere, I think. I truly admire you.
That’s a nice thing to say, thank you. You’re right - everywhere is underfunded, under resourced & understaffed from what I can work out.
Thank you for writing here & expressing the pleasures & aggravations… both can be the same or worse changing jobs rehujstjy because the ‘work’ is so tedious .. or the employer is a harridan, sexist pig(gy) or… use your imagination.. secretarial work is tedious very quickly no matter how many high end businesses or trades ( law, medicine, education, politics… etc) …
I love that Francesco says he’s doing just fine… the position even in a ‘bad day’ offers the choice of a variety of folks from near ( ones who know & live him & vice versa) and far, ones who bring new reports on their world, their challenges etc. Always stimulating… new people 😄
I don’t think that anyone can really judge whether or not another person’s life is boring. Only that it might not suit them personally. Sometimes people’s lives are in any case constrained by factors such as family circumstances, mental or physical issues, money, and they are doing their best with the hand that has been dealt. (I’ve just read that back and think that I sound boring! )
This is an interesting commentary, and a reminder that I really ought to go back to Sartre.
I'd like to imagine Francesco has chosen to work in order to live, not to live in order to work. Perhaps Francesco leads a full, interesting life with friends, art, nature, music and community outside of his work shifts. Or, perhaps, I'm just feeling sunny and optimistic on a perfect Autumn day.
Either way, your post speaks to the "slices" we see of people; it causes me to wonder how I present myself -- what parts people see in me and the impression that makes. Thanks for getting me to think today!
I am a dental hygienist and was working in the same office for 35 years. I'm still doing it. My dad the dentist used to say, "you can teach a monkey to scale teeth." Maybe so but I have found it a great way to make a living and learn about people. Every single human has at least one great story to tell and the connections to my patients have been deep and sometimes, long lasting. But yes, I'm probably boring.....I prefer to say I have low serotonin needs.
But isnt there a big difference between being boring and living boringly? I think ı live a boring life and love it because overs stimulation is very hard for me but ı dont think I AM boring. Do you think you are boring?
I love the “low serotonin” response 🫢
Ahhh Hanif you sound like an entitled tw*t here. You don't even know the man. Still love your writing...
I find it interesting that these days (or maybe it was always like this) people judge others by what they 'Do'.. Every meeting with others /strangers the first question one is asked 'what do you do?' and one dutifully answered this question 'I work as a ....' etc. I look forward to answering "I am a secret agent ...' or whatever comes into ones head at the time. How much more interesting one might seem!! Is that particular question, and its answer, a really reflection of how one feels about oneself? And writing this at 80 I think I have had interesting times/work and boring times too...it's life I guess. But I continue to think no-one should be judged / valued or otherwise by their work and not who they are in essence although it is difficult to ask this!!
I think the prople that matter and know us well anyway dont give a damn about what we do. I have only two criterias for friends personally . Kindness and interestingness.
May I offer a different take on Francesco? People like him are fixtures. They provide a haven to return to for those of us who flit about, a place where we are known. What a treasure! Being able to hold the same job through changes in management etc., is no small feat. For me, the secretary at my kids' school was like that. She worked there for decades up until she died at 96. She was an institution. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her. Five-hundred people came to her funeral. She was someone who made a "small" job big.
Yes and notice that Hanif sounded like he was pleased the guy was still there. The same thing happened to me at a large breakfast room in a London hotel (The Tavistock in Tavistock Sq). Went there in the mid 00's, saw a tall but stooped elderly, distinctive man who was clearly in charge of things. Went back nearly 15 years later - he was still there in the same place, doing exactly the same thing. I was stunned as apart from anything else I thought he would be long dead!
The most obvious experience of this is as you say, school - teachers who taught us are still there when we are well intp our maturity.
Year after year I sit in the same rooms and write books. Nick Kent once said one of them—I think ‘Lipstick Traces’ (and your bringing that in as part of the everyday life of ‘The Black Album’ remains one of proudest moments)—that it read like something cooked up in a room with a lot of books and records: well, yes. I’ve often felt as if that makes me a boring person anywhere off the page. So I feel kinship with the pizza man
If Francesco wants to work in Pizza Express for - I presume - most of his working life what odds? The failure of imagination here in my eyes is the failure to exercise empathy about what makes him tick. And a writer who can't use their imagination, who isn't curious about people, who goes with Sartre's caricature of a waiter, is taking life for granted. Francesco may not be limited at all by his job. He may actually feel fulfilled, and - dare I say it - happy. One of the happiest times in my own life was working Front of House in Sadler's Wells. I worked in the Staff Bistro, as bar cellar man, on the bars in the evening, on the Stage Door some weekends, and helped build the studio theatre. They also serve who only stand and wait.
Isn’t it just that people are different? Did you talk to Francisco how he feels about his own life? I can imagine that he enjoys talking to people and has a role that he’s comfortable in that suits him. Doing something for a long time means someone gets really expert at it - and there’s often pleasure in that too. I often marvel at people who never move - they stay in the small town they grew up and went to school in. I know from social media that plenty of people I went to school with have done exactly that - and I find it bewildering- because for me I couldn’t wait to get out of places I found boring, stultifying, lacking in any adventure or excitement- it felt to me like all the good stuff was happening elsewhere (it was). But… many people like to stay in the same place. Maybe they have the pleasure of long history, generational family connections to a place, and roots that I don’t have. Maybe this is a loss… but it’s just not my life. But back to Pizza Express - if Francisco is boring, aren’t you also boring since you went there again and again and again? It can’t have been that boring there as you enjoyed the repetition.
The rich are assailed by boredom. And to think all everyone wants is to be them
Omg!!!!!!!!!!!! I have never heard a truer sentence…🤣🤣😁ı think its more boring for rich women than men.
As an iron rod rider now slowly and awkwardly dismounting, I have been lucky enough to acquire another skill, making pots. My teacher and friend is a master of his craft. He makes beautiful functional pieces. He has been working in the same space for over forty years. He makes a range of work, from espresso cups to moon jars, all with a quiet that makes them very good company.
He’s not bored, or boring, he is engaged by every step of the process he has created. We worked it out that his teapot s require seventy different processes from clay to pouring a cuppa. Much of the time is occupied with actively not thinking, but making. Hands working the clay, muscle memory being allowed to remember, skill channeling intention. It is physically demanding. But never boring… for him.
I direct tv drama, starting out making soap and developing, over years, to big high profile series… and now I have returned to soap. I get to teach directors how to direct. Like Francesco, I am working in the same Albert Square or Holby where I worked thirty something years ago. And I really value being here again. Like grandchildren are an opportunity to do it better, this is a place I love and understand, and I get to practice my skills in. It’s the same and not the same, because I know more now.
I too enjoy each of the repeated seventy stages it takes to pour my cuppa.
Being a potter taught me how to be a happier director. Happy to be in one place.
Now about this rod doctor…
Best wishes
Matthew Evans
Even sex can be boring. We are neither our jobs nor our amusements & therefore it’s impossible to evaluate the worth of others’ lives. Better to not try since we need always to work on our own. I’d rather read Beowulf than Sartre.
I don't think it's possible to be boring as boredom is something that must be felt about someone else, not about yourself. And if you hang around the crossroads of life you will inevitably find someone who's jam is your jam, or dough ball is your kind of dough ball. Of course not everybody will find a person interesting or engaging and will gravitate to the ones where they do, but I would say that this is more about the other rather than the one. Your friend telling you she thought she might be boring sounds a bit egoic and self interested to me, because in discourse most people are far more invested in being found interesting and listened to and admired than they are giving that to someone. So often the best way to not "bore", is to want to pay attention to the other and engage with them. It's not about social performance, it's about receptivity. Not sycophancy, but genuine interest - which if you are to apply it to most you meet requires a bit of faith that no one is truly "boring"; they may have a repetitive job and no travel experience and only like digestive biscuits with their tea, but all humanity is going through the same angst, the same passions, the same fears, the same loves, and it's the coping mechanisms to get through that which define our lives. Some people choose safety and repetition, others choose adventure and a constant drive for the new, and some are simply kyboshed by life and are barely holding on, and their coping mechanisms may be hidden and strange and are all interesting ways to deal with this condition of life.
I hope that wasn't a boring answer, but if it is , it's your call - ha!
Yes people who explain excruciating detalis when conversing are very boring to me ım sorry to say. Boring exists!
It does indeed - in the mind of the receiver. If someone is excruciatingly explaining every tiny detail of something they obviously find whatever it is fascinating, or themselves fascinating. You don't have to agree.
The one thing I did not consider is when we find ourselves bored with who we are. That's something else and would point far more to what Hanif is speaking of in terms of in evitable future and reaching out for new experiences or embracing change.