Town Mouse
‘Ain’t life grand?’ I thought to myself the other day, when strolling down Piccadilly. I had emerged from the Underground and was heading for Hatchards, where a friend was launching a book. I walked past Fortnum & Mason and marvelled at the gorgeous window displays. I glanced into the courtyard of St James’s Church with its tents selling local wares and its sculpture by Emily Young – and remembered seeing the late and great John Michell, an Oldie columnist, giving a talk there some years ago.
For all the hustle and vanity and nonsense of London town, there is still something about Piccadilly that raises the spirits. You feel at the centre of things.
How different from life in the countryside! As one who, in former days, bade the town farewell and sought peace – ‘To breathe in distant fields a purer air’, as Dr Johnson puts it in his early poem London, written when he was 29 – I see the pleasures of town with a fresh eye.
Despite the fact that the city is still, as in the early 18th century, ‘the needy villain’s gen’ral home’, the life of the city can’t fail to energise you.
Though the air may be purer in the distant fields, there are nothing like as many parties. These days, Mrs Mouse and I find we are caught up in a constant social whirl. We dash from book launch to drinks party to lunch date, generally travelling between each one by bicycle.
It is all good fun but there are a few rules and points of etiquette you need to follow.
To avoid drinking too much, we have a policy of soft drinks at book launches – a mercy as they are known for their warm white wine. It also means we’re less likely to stay too long. In the 1990s, book launches signalled the beginning, not the end, of an evening. They were an occasion to drink as much warm white wine as possible before carousing in some other den of iniquity.
Leaving before the end means that we are less likely to get involved in the poet-fights that sometimes happen at these occasions, when a young and slightly insecure poet will have a little too much to drink and find himself slinging abuse at the host. Rule one: don’t drink.
Social occasions can cause a mouse’s heart to beat a little faster. As I pedal my way across Hyde Park to a party in town, I may be suddenly overtaken by a mild panic. I will stop and telephone Mrs Mouse to express my foreboding.
‘Look – I don’t think I can face this party. I’m thinking of staying in.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ says Mrs Mouse. ‘Just pop in and say hello. You have told them you’re coming.’ Rule two: if you have RSVPED, ‘Yes’, then you need to turn up. Just think, ‘I’ll do half an hour.’
Fortified by this good sense, I cycle on and stride into the room. Following the excellent Mary Killen’s advice, my first step is to find the host to say hello – so they know you have come to their party. Sometimes, though, the host is chatting with a VIP and really doesn’t want the conversation to be interrupted. The other day I bounded up to my old friend B at his book launch and gave him an enthusiastic hug, saying, ‘How are you, you old f***er?’
‘Oh hello, Mouse,’ he said. ‘Can I introduce you to Sadiq Khan?’ Rule three: check out the assembled company before launching into matey ribaldry.
Now, when attending these functions with Mrs Mouse, we sometimes disagree on a very important point – when to leave. I will be happily chatting away with someone, and Mrs Mouse will appear at my elbow, smiling broadly, saying, ‘We probably ought to get going.’
The other night, at a club in Greek Street for the launch of a book of amusing poetry by our friend M, this very thing happened.
‘Can I just finish my beer?’ I replied. (I had already broken rule one, above). I went on to the smoking balcony for a quick fag and we eventually left 20 minutes later.
Mrs Mouse and I cycled back home and, on arriving at 10.30pm, I learned she was not happy. ‘We should have left earlier,’ she said. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ I countered. ‘We had a lovely time and it’s really not late.’
From upstairs came the voice of our teenage daughter who had evidently heard this exchange: ‘Mum, it’s soooooo annoying! Why do you always make Dad leave parties early?’
Rule four: either go to parties separately or agree on a leaving policy. Perhaps the one who wants to leave should give 15 minutes’ notice to the other, rather than expecting them to leave the moment they are asked to.
Yes, the whirl causes issues. Of course things would be easier if we never went out and never had to face such partygoing dilemmas; if we just stayed quietly in our own room. But that would be to deny life. It’s why, as Dr Johnson said to Boswell, 40 years after he wrote the poem quoted above, ‘Why, sir, you will find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London.’
‘Mum, it’s soooooo annoying! Why do you always make Dad leave early?’