030303 - First work day after (voluntary) redundancy, Monday morning, 03/03/03

On leaving banking and starting to work at home

In my white car with moss on the roof, wearing my blue jumper with orange arms and sporting three days stubble, I drove home from Luby’s. Fascinated in my inverse fish tank, I passed thousands of darkly-dressed commuters flowing quietly downhill toward Clapham Junction. Smart girls were primming along on well-practiced heels, suited men were striding to walkman tunes, busses and taxis billowed dragon smoke, and I wasn’t in that picture any more.

Getting back to my flat was weird because I felt awake and ok, unlike getting home after the office. I did a couple of chores, without having to promise myself rewards for doing them. I did my back exercises ungrudgingly and headed to the gym for a swim.

I felt like I’d stepped into an alternate universe. It was about half past nine, and people were heading wherever people head at half past nine on a Monday in the most residential part of this most residential suburb. The elderly, the unemployed, the disabled and pram-pushers all went their ways. I wasn’t one on them.

Walking into the gym, it felt as if the hundred young mums in the café were glowering and psychically screaming at me: “Our men are at work!” I expected to be handed a white feather for desertion of duty at any moment. In the pool after a while some bloke a bit younger than me got into my lane. I looked daggers at him through my goggles. Why wasn’t he working?