Week 16 - Greg + Jack
I met Jack at Viet Shack in town. You can’t book so we joined a small queue of people waiting to be seated. The guy in front of us was part of a larger party and had been sent in to secure a table. He was told that due to the size of their group it would be at least an hour before a table would be available; information which he seemed less than happy to receive but reluctantly accepted. At this point another member of the party, presumably his wife, appeared demanding that they be seated inside, a preference that was noted by the host. I have a real frustration with people who don’t play by the rules and it never ceases to amaze me how often people show up at an establishment and then rile against its practices. They have chosen to be there, but seem to resent the whole experience. No doubt if the restaurant was empty and they were immediately seated they still wouldn’t be happy. This is probably why I’m better suited to a role that doesn’t involve interacting with members of the general public. Jack and I expressed no preferences when it came to where we were seated and were shown to a table outside straight away.
Jack is my personal trainer and kindly volunteered to join me on a Greg Plus One, hopefully not just out of obligation! We always have a good chat during out training sessions so I wasn’t concerned that conversation might dry up despite him being literally half my age. When I was 22, I had just graduated university and working mornings doing data entry for the Royal Bank of Scotland. People always say that their outlook on life doesn’t change as they get older and I’m no exception. Anyone who knows me well will tell you I’ve always been old before my time and generally prefer pottering around the house to dancing the night away until the small hours. I am however reminded of my advancing years when I spend time with people significantly younger than I am, mainly when they use words I either wouldn’t use, or have never heard of. I recently stayed with some friends for Easter and one of the children present referred to his dad as broski which made me smile. I guess this probably has as much to do with raising your child in East London as it does with the generational divide.
Jack and I ordered a cocktail each (it was a Friday after all) and got to talking, first and foremost about the delights of Stockport, or to be more specific the Stockport Pyramid. If you’ve never driven through Stockport, you might not be familiar with the huge glass pyramid that graces the skyline. Construction was started in the Eighties by a private contractor who went bankrupt with Co-Op Bank repossessing the building and turning it into their headquarters. The original scheme called for several pyramids, but it sadly wasn’t to be and the Co-Op vacated the building in 2018, where it sat empty until earlier this year. It has now been taken over by Royal Nawaab, as a Pakistani / Indian restaurant / banqueting venue. I plan to check it out sometime given my love of modern architecture.
We ordered the following to eat:
Shack Dumplings: Handmade dumplings with pork, leeks & water chestnut with a fermented chilli & soy vinaigrette
Muc Chien: Crispy squid, 7 spices, chilli oil, green chilli sauce
Pho Bo: Saigon style pho served with slices of rare topside & braised shin beef
@JACK - Do you remember what you ordered? Menu here: https://www.vietshackrestaurant.co.uk/documents/Final-Main-Menu-Feb-25-A4_compressed.pdf
Jack mentioned that he likes to listen to podcasts and that he will put his earbuds in even if he’s just nipping to the corner shop. I think he finds it amusing that I don’t wear headphones at the gym when I’m working out by myself, but I find that I’m too disassociated from what’s going on around me if I have my headphones in. There’s also that awkward moment when some asks you a question, you don’t hear them and you have to make them repeat what they’ve just said. I used to wear headphones far more often when I lived in London, mostly on my commute and mainly to drown out fellow passengers who would either be watching videos out loud or having obnoxiously loud conversations on their phone, which I couldn’t help but listen to. Conversely, one of the advantages of not wearing headphones at the gym is that you can eavesdrop on other people’s conversations - not that I would do such a thing.
We moved on to other forms of entertainment and Jack said he is “forced” to watch Eastenders by his girlfriend, Chloe. Growing up, we were very much an Eastenders household and would watch it religiously. My father liked to pretend that it wasn’t for him, but still seemed to know the names and happenings of all the main characters. I stopped watching it when I went to university and hadn’t seen an episode until a couple of years ago when I was having work done on my previous house. I had rented the flat next door which was furnished and had small TV in the kitchen/dining room. I would often pop it on to keep me company while I cooked dinner and soon found myself immersed in the goings on of Albert Square. I was relieved to see that several of the characters from years gone by were still present and accounted for and it took me about thirty seconds to re-familiarise myself with the story line. In a world of constant content provision it’s nice to have the constant familiarity of a soap. Perhaps I’ll start watching it again and Jack and I can discuss the latest Albert Square antics during our training sessions.
Talk of TV led me to recall a story my mother once told me regarding her TV Licence, or lack thereof. She had just moved into her first flat and had neglected to purchase a TV licence, more out of oversight than obstinance, when she received a phone call from her father berating her for not having one. How did he know? Apparently back in those days it wasn’t uncommon for a list of offenders to have their names published in the local newspaper where he’d seen his daughter’s name. How effective this technique was in ensuring compliance is hard to say, I’d imagine not very given it no longer takes place. It did however compel my mother to buy licence ASAP to prevent more shame being brought upon the family!
Jack grew up in Manchester and went to university in Sheffield, where he met his girlfriend Chloe. My sister also went to university in Sheffield and met her wife, Sally, while she was studying there. They stayed in Sheffield for a few years after they graduated, which isn’t uncommon (apparently Sheffield has the highest post-graduate retention rate of any city). I’ve spent a fair amount of time in Sheffield due to the family connection and a number of friends who also hale from Steel City. One of my regrets is that I’ve never been to Dempseys, Sheffield’s most well-known gay nightclub. I asked Jack whether he’d been and his reaction was fairly typical for those that have, a sort of self-deprecating acceptance that you actually quite like the place despite the uncoolness of doing so. Regional gay bars like Dempseys used to exist all over the UK and served a sort of care in the community purpose as well as somewhere for liked-minded people to become better acquainted. The advent of dating apps and society as a whole becoming more tolerant means that many of them have now closed. I lament this loss, but also acknowledge that I am bear some responsibility for it - a bit like someone who complains that the local butcher has closed despite only ever buying their turkey from it once a year.
Jack and I moved on to matters domestic and who does what around the flat. He said tasks are divided in blue and pink jobs, which reminded me of a slightly awkward interview on The One Show with Theresa May and her husband when she first became Prime Minister, not so much because of how they chose to delegate household tasks, but more because of the not-so-subtle “We’re just normal people too!” element. When you live by yourself (as I previously did for many years) then you find you have to take on all domestic duties, or get a cleaner. One of the great advantages of working from home is that you can slot in household chores around your day job. In fact, the thought of coming home from work and then having to put on a load of washing and unload the dishwasher slightly fills me with dread. I am of course one of the lucky ones, my sister has three children and does approximately 63 loads of laundry a day, as well as several dishwasher runs. I once worked with someone who disliked washing up so much that he sacrificed his washing machine so he could get a dishwasher. He lived in a relatively small flat so there wasn’t room for both and decided the occasional trip to the laundrette for a service wash was a small price to pay for not having to scrub the dishes. The seems to me to be an entirely sensible decision.
Chloe, Jack’s girlfriend is learning to drive and I was shocked to learn that driving lessons now cost £33 an hour! I seem to recall that mine were about £12 and that if you were being really fancy you would pay BSM (Bring Some Money) or the AA the princely sum of £18. My driving instructor, Kevin, also happened to be our postman and wasn’t blessed with the calm temperament you might expect from someone in a safety critical teaching role. He was always fine with me, but not adverse to shouting abuse at other drivers. My most memorable lesson however began with my mother answering the door and enquiring as to Kevin’s weekend - good, bad, indifferent. The sort of idle chit chat you’re not really expecting a significant response to. Kevin replied “Not so good, my dad dropped dead on Saturday.” Somewhat taken aback, my mother suggested they perhaps Kevin might like to forego the lesson, but he insisted that he was fine to proceed. It would be fair to say that the lesson was more than a little awkward. I particularly recall the anecdote of St. John’s Ambulance (sadly unsuccessfully) attempting to resuscitate Kevin’s father who had collapsed at an outdoor event in the New Forest. Kevin’s tuition, as well as lots of journeys to/from school in the car with my father, meant I did eventually pass my driving test, albeit on the third attempt. My first lesson had been on my 17th birthday in December and I was free to drive unchaperoned by March the following year so I didn’t do too badly. Ten years later I had to update the photograph on my driving licence for the first time. I’m still not sure I’ve quite recovered from the physical transformation that had taken place in the meantime; luckily once you’ve lost your hair the subsequent aging process seems to slow somewhat.
Jack and I finished our meal and then wandered back to catch the tram. He mentioned that he and Chloe had recently visited a pug cafe, essentially a cat cafe but with pugs. Not really my cup of tea, but each to their own! Thanks Jack for another great Greg Plus One and for ensuring I drag myself to the gym three time a week (most weeks at least).
