Cover Plans: Episode 1. The Usual

When I decided to publish Other Plans myself, one of the things I was looking forward to was getting my own covers, and having an old pal and design whiz to do it for me.

Having put up with many outbreaks of dinner party angst and bar stool breakdowns over a couple of decades (decades, Jesus...), when I gave Darren a couple of extracts to read he was able to tell me what I was writing about more clearly than I'd been able to express it myself. The disparity between what you hope for in life in your twenties, and what you get. It's not that what you get is bad, just... not quite what you had in mind.

So with that, the idea for the series covers developed, two related images, one representing the dream. one the reality. He had some ideas for pairs, I had some vague notions too, then he went away to work on them. Now I don't see what he's come up with until I finally get an episode written and ask him for a cover so it's a bit of a nice surprise as to what I get.

What I'm planning to do is write some thoughts sparked by each cover as they come in. Might be stream of consciousness drivel, but let's see how it goes.

It might be some new Rorscharch method of writing blurbs...

Dry Martinis and Flat Whites

 

When I was in my early 20s, I loved the idea of being a person who'd be able to walk into a cool hotel bar and order a cocktail with confidence. And by cocktail, I mean a proper one, like a martini or a gimlet. Nothing with comedy name or homeopathic levels of booze masked by too much fruit juice and an umbrella.

It's the kind of thing that requires a degree of confidence to order, I think, and also the ability to take in decent sips of strong spirits without coughing and wheezing like an asthmatic pug. That I knew full well that I looked about 15 till I was 30 didn't make this easy. But I kept trying. I provided ID with a wry smile when I was asked, even if it did take the edge of looking suave, and had an opinion on whether I preferred a Manhattan sweet, dry or perfect, and what drinks I wanted straight up rather than on the rocks. My disdain for the world of James Bond was only confirmed when I learned he was doing martinis all wrong.

And at some point, I got comfortable with it. It's something I don't really give a thought to now, although I rarely get to leave the house in the evening these days and, lovely as my town not far from the sea is, it's not a place overrun by mixologists. But Saturday night I can break out the cocktail shaker and long-stemmed glasses, and I don't even have to pretend I'm doing it ironically.

While I was struggling with occasional cocktails back then, I found it easier to embrace the world of overpriced coffee.

This whole buying coffee thing was a new idea less than 20 years ago in England. I think it's probably newer than the internet. For all the arguable evils of giant coffee chains I don't recall there being a burgeoning independent coffee scene in London before Starbucks and its imitators arrived, so there's a few people making careers as artisan baristas who have a Seattle mermaid to thank, whatever they think of her brews or tax status.

But anyway back at the turn of the century, having a usual coffee shop, and a usual drink, and a usual bun I'd buy and take to an office where I had a proper desk job made me feel like a grown up. It was part of a structure, an edifice of who I was displayed through what I did.

In your 20s it's what you choose to do repeatedly that helps define you.

It could be your usual in the pub, or the shop that you get your clothes from, the type of movies you go and see. It could be how you treat the opposite sex, whether you skive or career build at work, or whether you're kind.

From the big things to the little things, being a grown-up is what you keep doing over and over.