Rob Gilroy: Work That Space

So, I’ve been looking to buy a house. I know, big commitment, right?

It was either that or fund some sort of costumed crime-fighter lifestyle but ultimately that might not be the best investment, and my girlfriend would have a lot to say about it.

Understandably, she doesn’t want to be the sidekick, but it’s like I said to her – she doesn’t suit the title ‘The Fuchsia Defender’, I do. We’ve decided to compromise and pool our resources to buy a house instead.

It won’t lie, it’s pretty terrifying. Neither of us can concur on a flavour of Pringles, so how we’ll agree on a whole house, I don’t know. We’ve been looking for the last few weeks now and we’ve seen it all – hovels, holes, bedsits – it’s like being Goldilocks, if she were acutely trained to spot damp patches and subsidence.

What do we want from a house? A roof would be nice, neighbours that aren’t stark-raving racists would be a plus, one that didn’t look like it used to be the command centre for a bunch of prolific crack heads is a real bonus, yet we’ve seen a lot of that. They don’t show you those bits on Location³ – Kirsty and Phil walking into a two bedroom terrace house and stepping over the Indian burial ground to show you the emersion heater.

We have seen some nice houses, but they’re few and far between, and even then, they’ve not been right. When we’ve spoken to people, all they say is “when it’s right, you’ll just know. You’ll feel it.” We’ve spent two months waiting for it and it’s still not coming. We did get a tingling feeling once but I’m sure that was a side effect of seeing a flat with asbestos in the walls.

How do we know we’ll get this feeling? We’re both waiting for it, like the onset of a stroke. Yet if we smell toast how do we know it’s the real thing and not just those odours that estate agents use to help sell a property?

And that’s another thing – estate agents. I thought the stereotype of estate agents was one of sleazy, pushy people who won’t rest until you’ve signed your life away for a one bedroom pit above a hydroponics shop. Turns out; that’s not the case. The agents we’ve dealt with aren’t in the least bit bothered about making a sale; we’re expected to do all the work. One of them even had me in the loft, poking round with an iPhone flashlight to see if it was insulated! It wasn’t. And there was a dead body up there. Great parking though.

Between us and the countless homeowners that have shown us round their properties, I’m not really sure what an estate agent is for. They’re not even the middle man, so vague is their role in the proceedings. It would be the equivalent of a person taking part in a séance purely based on the fact that they provided the table.

But, you’re probably wondering what all this has to do with comedy, aren’t you? While I shall ignore that slight against my writing, the fact is; I’m looking for an office. I’ve never really been in this position before but now I get to find a writing space that is conducive to my working style. Ideally I need one where armed guards force me to keep writing, but so far nothing’s coming up on RightMove.

I love a good office, I’m quite sad like that. Some people will dream about their ideal wedding or perfect holiday – I think of a really fancy working space; one with an electric pencil sharpener and an arrangement of coloured Post-its. It’s not the most glamorous fantasy but I’m safe in the knowledge that if my girlfriend walks in on me while I’m at my desk, she won’t see me ‘getting off’ to what’s on my laptop, it’ll be the fact that it’s next to a selection of coordinated ring binders.

So I’m looking for the right office, one that can fit a desk, some shelves and my collection of ‘How to Make Millions Writing Comedy’ books. In an ideal world it would look like Lex Luthor’s lair in Superman: The Movie. I would love a ladder that slides along on castors, letting me chose which literary texts I want but the best I could hope for is a buffet with stabilisers. I could spend hours planning the perfect lay out – one where everything was to hand and it was all ergonomically and feng shui-ily designed to maximise my creative inspiration.

Yet, while office hunting is fun, it’s easy to ignore the underlying problem with it – it’s just procrastination. Yes, I would love a nice office, yes I want it to be practically designed and easy to use but ultimately it shouldn’t matter. I should be able to write anywhere. An office is nice but it can have the same effect as staring at a blank page – you find yourself crippled by a desire to do things the right way. Or should that be the ‘write’ way?

I’ll keep looking for houses, and hopefully find one with a quaint little office for myself, but I will not let that become a distraction from actually writing. It can’t. I need to be writing now, before I get my office. Because once I’m in there I’ll be too busy with my new career – as The Fuchsia Defender.

 Rob is at The Stand in Newcastle on the Thursday 24, Friday 25  and Saturday 26 July.