Loose ends

I think it’s about time I left another stain on this thing.

I’m leaving Newcastle tomorrow. I finished my fundraising job on Wednesday with a heaviness in my heart – and yet I am quite excited at the prospect of being able to walk through town without having to harass anyone. People can look at me and think what they like, but no more will they have to think “right, let’s veer left after this lamppost, and get in behind this group of old ladies so the scruffy-haired twat doesn’t get near me”.

And yet I am thankful for my fundraising career. I would like to say it looks good on my CV. I dunno, I think I may have to point out why it is good experience to future employers as I imagine most would be blinded by their sheer kneejerk hatred of the Platonic vision of the “student twat in a bib”.

And yet what an experience. I am now qualified to talk with authority, confidence and brevity about a given subject to a cross-section of society to the point that I can get their bank details. That’s pretty cool isn’t it.

It was a fiercely target-driven environment and we were constantly under pressure. I was permanently being put on the spot by people and forced to think quickly – though mostly that involved thinking up good come-backs to comments about my appearance. Plus I can flirt for Britain now (male or female).

I received a letter from the Childlife charity that we were representing for about six weeks. It said that I had raised a five-year projected donor income of £38,520. That’s nice to know. Of course it means everyone I signed up needs to give to that charity for five years. But still, in a year that’s about seven grand.

Whatever. It’s done. I’ve finished it. Now all I have to do is clean up the mess that a meal cooked for five people created last night. And my word there is a lot. Then I need to pack up all my belongings and get out of this strange town.

I’ve left myself about a week or so to prepare for my trip. This mostly involves shopping. I need malaria tablets, a good rucksack, some clothes, a camera etc. But most excitingly I am going to buy a digital dictaphone. While I wander around the hot sink that is India, I quite fancy reading my Alan Partridge-style television show pitches into a small box. Or more likely, writing songs and recording them. Or giving me something to transcribe for this here blog.

So yes, as my trip approaches, let me say here that I intend to keep this blog going while I’m away. Obviously, it may be quite tricky and a little sporadic but hey, I have the best intentions.

I will fly to Bombay/Mumbai in a couple of weeks. From there it could go any way. Hopefully I won’t be alone for too long. But even if I didn't speak to anyone for six months – actually, can you imagine that? That would be quite a challenge. A vow of silence. I imagine I’d come home with a few things to say. I wonder if you would forget how to speak? Hang on, how would you book a taxi or buy an orange?

Obviously I am slightly tiring of having to tell people about the trip. Though if I bump into an acquaintance in town, I feel slightly obligated to tell them. What if I were never to see them again for whatever reason? It would seem a bit rude that I didn’t even have a chance to say best wishes.

Once seeing that person’s eyes light up from the shock of the initial news, the common question is “so who are you going with?” When I tell them no one, I see a genuine mixture of fear and excitement. Like, “that was a good idea when I could envisage you with one or two others, but now that I know you are doing it PROPERLY, I’m impressed.” But that is usually followed up by some garbled sentence like “You know you can’t drink coke with ice cubes in it! You did know that right? And bring sun lotion! It’s gonna be hot. You did know that right?”

It is sweet I guess.

Anyway, until the next time (when maybe I will try a little harder to make you spit chewing tobacco onto your keyboard in amusement.)