Viva Lewes Issue #138 March 2018

COLUMN
East of Earwig
My state of independence
Being a self-employed copywriter in Ringmer is
often a thankless task. This is good. In the past
I’ve crafted letters from various chief executives,
I’ve given voice to a cartoon mobile phone, I’ve
interviewed one of the greatest racing drivers of
all time and I’ve, briefly, become an expert on
international rail travel. All great fun - and without
any sign of Mark Bridge, whoever he is. My name
rarely appears in print. As a result, no-one stops
me in the street to offer their opinion. No-one
photographs me when I pop to the shops wearing
pyjamas and flip-flops. No-one asks me if I’m him
from that thing.
The freelance lifestyle is also unstable. This is also
good. While some of my contemporaries get their
thrills from driving fast cars, kite-surfing and wild
parties, I get my adrenaline rush from wondering
whether my invoices will be paid before our mortgage
is due. This is much safer, with absolutely no
chance of a twisted ankle.
A writer in a big city may talk about working in
a different coffee shop every day for a change of
scenery. Here in Ringmer, fewer choices mean
fewer visits. Ruling out the local pubs - which is
a good idea, because I'd be inclined to stay for a
bowl of chips and a pint when I'd finished my coffee
- I'm left with a choice between Café Ringmer,
an outside table at the bakery and the regular
‘Souper Saturday’ fund-raiser at the village hall.
Quite simply, living in a village saves me a fortune
on my cappuccino budget.
Then there’s the freedom. I don’t have any set
hours to work, as long as I get the job done. I can
stay up late if I want (although, to be honest, I
often start dozing on the sofa before 10pm. The
Newsnight theme might as well be a lullaby.) I can
work at weekends, without any of the annoying paperwork
associated with overtime payments. And
I can even start early, just like most other people
with regular jobs.
Of course, there are disadvantages. By not commuting,
I miss out on the camaraderie of fellow
travellers as we stand nose-to-armpit on public
transport, I don’t see the cheery gestures that
drivers exchange at the Cuilfail roundabout and
there’s no chance for me to boost my circulation as
I sprint through the rain to my desk.
Let’s face it, I am a man of mystery. And I’m about
to become even more mysterious, because this is
my last East of Earwig column. To everyone who’s
enquired about the new house (still delightful), the
grandson (still delightful) or the late Rupert (still
in his little packet on the bedroom windowsill);
thank you for joining me on my voyage of discovery
through Ringmer. Meanwhile, if you’d like to
know what happens next… I’m open to commissions.
Mark Bridge
@markbridge
27