Stalking

Friday 28^th October

I got an email from the club today, confirming that I can buy their clothing without an ethical care in the world. Well, not quite that far. They didn’t say it was fairly traded, only that all suppliers were committed to ethical manufacturing processes and that the club questioned them about those processes and how most of them had “cool and spacious” working environments. Am I naïve to take them at their word? I’m not an investigative journalist after all. Still, if nothing else, it’s good to know that the club are at least bothered enough to answer such queries, and quickly too. However, my mail to the manager that included the poem never got me any feedback…

Jun and I met Faisel at the Tricycle tonight to watch a series of short plays about Darfur, called “how soon is never?” I am sure I don’t need to say that the title is a reference to the “never again” that followed genocide in Rwanda 12 years ago but is occurring under the Sudanese Government and its agents now. The plays had the lack of action and concern on the part of the west as a significant strand. Following some speeches in a discussion after the play, I’ve decided to write a couple of letters this weekend. Normally, I’m not a letter writer because it seems so pointless. The fact is, though, that apart from sending more money (which Jun is going to do), there’s no other way to get involved.

I’d taken Mark Thomas’ book for Faisel to read and he told me he’d seen him there. After the interval, coming back from a quick half across the road, Faisel collared him and got him to sign the copy. I am not a shy boy, but I ran away. I am worried that if Mr T. saw me again and also knew it was me who sent him an almost-funny-but-actually-a-bit-sad-and-probably-inaccurate email (which he replied to) last month about referencing his book in my dissertation, he might begin to think he had a stalker. F, Tim and I have seen him “on stage” many times over the last few years and have therefore heard some stuff more than once. We are all going to see him at the same venue next week. I’m concerned that having read the book, I have repeated the mistake and the show won’t be as compelling as otherwise. Mostly, I’m worried that, having turned first to his page in the weekly New Statesman for a significant period of time, I have unconsciously become his number 1 fan. Evidence now takes the form of the “Dear Robin, happy 37^th birthday” that Faisel got him to write inside the book I picked up brand new and cheap in the secondhand section of Waterstones. Mark, I will neither be sitting at the front nor waiting outside next Friday.

Shit, the last time I ended an entry with a promise, I broke it.