Self Storage

A few years ago, when I was going through a rather difficult time I dragged my weary bones off to a crowded office round the back of Victoria to renew my passport. After an interminable wait, the exceptionally stern official (whose three piece suit exactly matched her gums) looked me hard in the face and asked for some proof of my identity. This request completely floored me. Rapidly I tried to think of all the things that made me me. Did she want me to slip into my cherry red tap shoes and demonstrate my mastery of the time steps? Was she asking me to explain quite how much I cant abide Wordsworth ? Did she want me to hold forth about the best way to crisp a lemon meringue pie or why my clothes aspire to librarian chic? In fact, the whole episode plunged me into a minor existential crisis and I beat a hasty retreat, frowning and muttering obliquely, ‘thing is I’m a bit between identities at the minute.’

Around this time I ordered rather a lot of Cash’s woven name tapes in apple green italic script and stitched them roughly into all my clothes, not just the more utilitarian items in my wardrobe, but my blouses and my party dresses too. There’s a certain security in pulling on a pair of chocolate brown Wolford micronet tights that have your name in them. I was not going to be caught out again.

Thoughts of self have been haunting me during the last few weeks. I’ve been having a website designed for me to help when my new novel is published at the end of June. This is one of the things that writers have to do now, along with giving readings at out of town venues after which elderly gentlemen “ask” things like, ‘I don't want to blow my own trumpet at all, but when I used to live on the Banbury borders Rudyard Kipling’s former secretary used to do a bit of typing for me.’

Two charming young men took care of this project for me. Vastly excited, I told not a soul. Pride and shame accompanied my every decision. Who do I think I am? Who am I? Who could I become? Tom and Chris handled all my angst with grace and humour. They understood that this was a complicated journey. Early on, I told them I am not one for taking things in my stride. The first time I ever had my hair lightened I talked at length to the colourist about whether I would ever be able to feel sincere and truthful in my dealings with other people when my hair had deceitful golden tints. ‘Don't worry’ they told me, encouragingly. ‘Remember it’s about your work, not you’, they consoled. Then began the decision making which was endless. It was like the most exhausting kind of shopping where form,colour, cut, and fabric were all up for grabs. The boys who were understanding itself asked me for some adjectives that would describe the ‘feel’ of the site. I had no idea. Elegant and slightly traditional? But I didn't want my site to look like Boots. Simple, contemporary and mildly humorous, yet not at all tricksy? Serious yet accessible with a playful underbelly? Perfumed and leisurely? Radiant and trembly, which is how the hairdresser described my look on my wedding day?

Finally we hit on something we all agreed on. It’s clear and cheery in this season’s colours and very easy to operate. What’s more when I look in, from time to time, I sure get a sense of who I am.