This afternoon I sit writing in a coffee shop in Stoke Newington. Feeling momentarily reckless, I have branched out and tried a different cafe to the one I normally frequent three doors down. The Americano (“with just a drop of milk”) has been ordered. The seat by the window, taken. The failing laptop, plugged into the wall. I am set for the day. This is my radical bid to try something new, avoid becoming stale in my surroundings and give another local tradesman a piece of my humble financial pie.
But try as I might, I just don’t like it.
The problem is I am averse to change. I am a creature of habit. Alteration discombobulates me. Today’s coffee is too milky (which thus makes me sleepy). My Turkish waitress friend is not here to ask me whether I have finally found a place around here to live (and thus I cannot reply ‘Not yet!’ with a look of equal optimism and frustrated constipation). And the music is too loud (and a wholly different CD from the one they play in the other place). Did no one tell them I was coming?!!
Perhaps I am employing too many changes right now? 2012 has seen the following; Change of jobs: 1. Change of house: 1. Change of relationship status: 1. Change of knickers and socks: c. 340 (give or take the odd festival). I am just about to change every letter in my postcode (from SW6 to a N16 – hence being in Stoke Newington). And then today I have gone and changed coffee shops. I think the latter has been a change too far.
So why, you may ask, the complete life upheaval to North London when an ad hoc amendment in coffee shop throws me into a spin? Quite simply the statement, ‘if you don’t like it, change it’. Currently I live in Parsons Green, but being devoid of a boyfriend/husband/baby/quilted gilet/wads of cash I don’t feel I really fit in. I have no community. And being a writer who spends most of the *working week* alone, I crave the company of other lonely freelancers. I desire to frequent underground bars where “everybody knows my name”. And I want to hang out in coffee shops where I can happily spend the day writing without the fear of finding a baby under my seat (this happened to me in Parsons Green last week for a whole fifteen minutes and no one came to claim it. I actually began to fear it might be mine).
Given the last baby statement, you are therefore probably wondering what the hell am I doing moving to Stoke Newington where one in three of the inhabitants are under the age of six. Simply, I would love to live in another more creative/less baby heavy area, but I’m not cool or edgy enough for Hackney, streetwise enough for Brixton or rich enough for Soho. And thus, this is an intermediary solution – a change of situation without being a change in village style comfort and familiarity. Yes it is *yummy mummy* but with a creative spin. Like-minded people come and chat to me when I work from the coffee shops around here giving me a sense of community (albeit rented). And so if I do find the odd baby under my chair, at least I know I will probably have something in common with it’s mother when I hand it back.
It’s exciting times. My risk adverse nature is taking a stab in the dark and diving in at the deep end. I didn’t like it, so I am changing it. The problem is however, there was nothing wrong with the coffee shop up the road. I liked it very much but still felt the need to change. And an overly milky coffee was the tragic outcome.
Good job 2013 and a plethora of fresh starts and impossible to keep resolutions is just around the corner….
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Leanne Davis is a writer/actor/standup, repressed Catholic and may well be thirty. She was recently shortlisted for the BAFTA/Rockcliffe New Writing Award and the Funny Women Comedy Writing Award. Her firstly professionally commissioned short ‘Lucky’ is currently in post-production and the film 'Roots' in which she played the lead of a young* mother was selected for the BFI London Film Festival 2012 and BFI London Short Film Festival 2013. (* They missed out ‘young’ in the credits but clearly that’s what they meant.)
Twitter: @leannedavis
Facebook: Hannah and The Anne of Lea
(Pictured: americano with hot milk, Leanne Davis)
