The To-Do List Page 7

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I replied. ‘I just feel a bit weird.’

  ‘Because of this To-Do List?’

  ‘Do you know what? I actually did some of the things on there. I actually did become a journalist, I actually did write a novel, I actually did write for Just Seventeen and though I didn’t actually read The Misanthrope or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, write a sitcom, make a radio show or write for the NME I did at least have a couple of goes at being a TV presenter.’

  ‘That’s great,’ said Claire. ‘So why do you look so down?’

  ‘Because I’m not that guy any more, am I? That guy had a go and didn’t care if he failed. Some things he ticked off the list and some things he didn’t. What he didn’t do was give up at the first sign of a problem.’ I slipped the list into my back pocket, picked up my champagne and raised a toast.

  ‘Here’s to New Year’s resolutions.’

  ‘I know that face, Mike.’ Claire looked worried. ‘What is it that you’ve resolved to do? Not the Antarctic thing again is it?’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘It’s better than that. It’s the To-Do List. I’m actually going to do it! And though I appreciate that I might not tick all 1,277 things off the list, I’m going to give every last one of them my best shot.’

  When John and Charlotte had gone I sat at my desk and fired up my computer and wrote the following email which I sent to everyone in my online address book:

  Dear all,

  Just wanted to let you know (again) that having come to the conclusion that it was about time that I joined the world of fully functioning adults on a permanent basis only to change my mind a few months later, I’ve once again “about turned” and as of today will be focusing ALL of my efforts on the previously mentioned 1, 277-item To-Do List. This time round I really am hoping that my fear of being mocked twice over will provide me with sufficient inspiration and motivation to succeed where I have previously failed.

  Cheers, guys!

  Mike x

  P.S. Happy New Year!

  P.P.S. The only way is up!

  PART FOUR

  January–April

  (During which a new year begins, I get stuck into the To-Do List and try my very best to make it to the first audit)

  Selected Highlights from Mike’s To-Do-List Diary (Part 1)

  Monday 1 January

  5.15 a.m. Woke up and headed downstairs to tackle my first To-Do-List item of the New Year. 943: ‘Find the instruction manuals for the video recorder and DVD player and work out how to put the correct time on the clocks because they’ve been telling the wrong time now for five and a half years.’

  5.55 a.m. Have turned the whole house upside down looking for the aforementioned manuals and although I have located instruction manuals for a bread maker (that we no longer own), the condenser boiler and two kettles (how stupid can you be that you need instructions to turn on a kettle?), no sign of the ones I want.

  9.00 a.m. Have finally located instruction manual for the DVD player inside a book called Play bass guitar in three months! Video player instruction manual still nowhere to be seen.

  9.23 a.m. Have officially earned my first half tick! The ‘half’ is based on the fact that while the DVD player now displays the correct time the video player doesn’t as without the manual I still can’t work out how to programme the clock.

  9.46 a.m. Problem solved. Have given away our video player to John and Charlotte and decided to move on and attempt Item 254: ‘Try growing a beard because you will look good with one’.

  Tuesday 2 January

  3.21 p.m. I am in the car on the way over to Arthur’s house (because Arthur owns every sci-fi/geeky TV series DVD in the world) in a bid to fulfil Item 1041: ‘Find out what happened at the end of the X-Files because it might actually have been interesting’.

  3.49 p.m. I am currently arguing with Arthur (who takes his TV sci-fi series about as seriously as the Pope takes Catholicism) because he claims I can’t just watch the last episode on its own because it won’t make any sense. In order to understand the ‘full narrative flow’ of the final episode, I need to watch all 23 episodes of the final series.

  4.33 p.m. After much heated ‘debate’, Arthur and I have reached a compromise: he will let me watch the final episode (which is actually in two parts!) without watching all the others if I allow him to verbally explain the ‘narrative thread’ running through all NINE series of the X-Files.

  4.55 p.m. Arthur has been talking now for a good twenty minutes and although I am trying my very best NOT TO LISTEN TO A SINGLE WORD HE IS SAYING occasionally a phrase like ‘The smoking man’, ‘The Lone Gunman’ or ‘Black oil’ manages to permeate my ear drums. This despite my attempt to block out the white noise of sci-fi fandom with internal choruses of ‘La, la, la, I’m not listening! La, la, la! You think I’m listening but I’m not!’

  5.19 p.m. Arthur puts the disc with the final episode into his DVD player. I settle down and prepare to be blown away.

  6.00 p.m. I am officially bored out of my skull. Nothing makes any sense even with Arthur pausing to explain EVERY SINGLE significant plot point.

  7.00 p.m. It is over and I am none the wiser. Are the aliens real? What did happen to Mulder’s sister? And okay, so they’ve tied up a few loose ends but none of it (at least to an outsider) makes any real sense. Still, it’s another tick in the box.

  Wednesday 3 January

  4.23 p.m. I am sitting at my desk with a pen and paper in a bid to tick off Item 948: ‘Write a letter to the Chadwick family who have been sending Christmas cards to the Smiths who used to live at our address to tell them that the Smiths no longer live here.’ This is a hard letter to write. How do I begin to explain that while I’ve appreciated the last seven years’ worth of Christmas cards and round robins (I was especially pleased to hear that young Gilly had returned from Australia but was saddened to hear the news that Dixie the dog had passed away) the Smiths don’t even like the Chadwicks enough to let them know that they’ve moved house SEVEN YEARS after the event? I decide to go with the following: ‘Hi, I’m Mike Gayle the new owner of The Smiths’ former house. Sadly, the Smiths have moved away without leaving a forwarding address. However, feel free to carry on sending the cards because we’re really keeping our fingers crossed that Auntie Margaret pulls through. Cheers, Mike Gayle.’

  Thursday 4 January

  7.43 p.m. I am on the phone with my friend Richard in a bid to get his address and postcode in order to fulfil Item 817: ‘Get yourself an address book and write down people’s addresses’. I used to have an address book with people’s addresses in it. It was great. If I wanted to write to someone I could open it up find their address and send them a letter. Fifteen years on not only do I not have an address book (I got sick of crossing stuff out whenever they moved rented accommodation) but I don’t actually have anyone’s addresses either. I have their mobile number or, if I’m really lucky, a land line number which means that come Christmas (or if they’re lucky their birthday) I have to call them up to find out their address thereby spoiling any surprise that they might have enjoyed on discovering a card from me.

  9.43 p.m. I am only halfway through this endeavour and I have learned several things:

  1. No one can remember their postcode.

  2. No one answers their phone any more.

  3. This is a good way of catching up with people who, the second you hear their voice, you remember just how much you like them.

  10.45 p.m. Tick.

  Friday 5 January

  11.55 a.m. I am down in the basement looking for my toolbox in a bid to tackle Item 550: ‘Try to open the rear bedroom window that hasn’t been opened in the three years since you painted it shut’. At the time it had occurred to me that it wasn’t exactly the wisest thing to do, but I told myself I would try moving it later so that it wouldn’t stick. Of course I never did move it later and of course it stuck.

  12.08 p.m. The window won’t budge for love or money. It’s as though it’s b
een superglued to the frame. I look in my toolbox for inspiration and spy a screwdriver.

  12.31 p.m. I am in B&Q looking for wood glue. Who knew that if you jabbed a screwdriver into a wooden pine frame and wiggled it about, a massive chunk would splinter off so easily?

  Saturday 7 January

  7.21 a.m. I am by the tap in the kitchen looking at a pint of water because Item 483 is ‘Drink more water because it’s healthy’. I drink the water in one go and await feelings of intense inner healthiness.

  9.45 a.m. I am in the newsagents buying a two-litre bottle of Evian. I determine that I will polish one of these off every day.

  10.00 a.m. I am having a wee. Normally it looks a bit like Lucozade. Today it is straw coloured, just like so-called experts say it should be. I am pleased.

  11.13 a.m. I am having another wee (it is still straw coloured).

  13.23 p.m. I am having yet another wee (still straw coloured).

  14.55 p.m. I am talking to my wife about what colour her wee is. ‘Is it straw coloured?’ I ask. ‘I’m not telling you.’ ‘It should be straw coloured’ I tell her. ‘If it’s not your kidneys must be knackered.’

  7.30 p.m. Straw coloured or not, I am bored of weeing. I am also bored of drinking and thinking about drinking. In fact I’m actually fantasising about being thirsty. It is no fun at all being fully hydrated.

  Sunday 8 January

  8.21 a.m. I am checking out my burgeoning beard in the bathroom mirror. I think it looks great in a sophisticated and mature kind of way as though I might be a captain of industry having a weekend off from being a captain of industry.

  9.21 a.m. I’ve just picked up Lydia to give her a kiss and she’s pulled a face, rolled her eyes just like her mum and asked Claire why Dad has got his ‘scratchy face’ on? ‘I don’t know,’ says my wife despondently. ‘I really don’t know.’

  11.45 p.m. Just in from a night out with the Sunday Night Pub Club. Beard has gone down very well indeed. Kaytee said I looked distinguished and Jo and Amanda said that I looked ‘handsome’. The boys loved the beard so much that they have all made a pact to grow beards too. ‘We’ll be the beard gang,’ said Steve. ‘And have a secret beard handshake and everything.’

  Chapter 9: ‘Get rid of your AOL account because it’s just beyond ridiculous that you’ve been paying them £11.99 a month for a service that you don’t even use any more.’

  I had been with the multinational internet service provider AOL ever since one of their CDs dropped out of a magazine I’d been reading back in the mid nineties. Back then people had been going on about this thing called ‘the internet’ and how it was going to change the future and in a short space of time I’d moved from being unconvinced (dismissing it to one friend at the time as ‘a bit like CB radio for computer geeks’) to a full-on convert as everyone I knew began to get email addresses. Within a few hours of my dial-up being installed I was surfing, sending emails and downloading a solitary four-minute Coldplay b-side in just under six hours. I was in love.

  In spite of having pledged my troth to AOL with a monthly direct debit of £11.99, when the opportunity came along a few years later to get a faster broadband service through my cable provider for £15.99 a month I grabbed the opportunity with both hands. But rather than cutting all ties with AOL and moving on to a new life with Telewest, I carried on paying AOL.

  For the first month or two my reasoning was that I couldn’t afford the time to mess about changing email addresses and exporting address books. As those months became two years I began to wonder whether I was suffering from some kind of mental illness which led me to confuse the act of cancelling my direct debit with dumping a particularly tear prone girlfriend. Fearful that my actions might result in tears and tantrums, like any good bloke I avoided any opportunity for conflict and decided that rather than come out with the truth (‘I’m just not that into you any more’) I’d go with the old ‘extrication two-step’: Step 1) present the person/multinational you wish to leave with an insurmountable problem that explains why you want to call it off. Step 2) cross your fingers and hope that they can’t come up with a solution.

  For ages now email access via my computer had been very unreliable, and having set up an alternative email address in preparation, now was the time to let AOL know the situation was unacceptable. It was a no-brainer. Victory would be mine.

  ‘Hello, Mr Gayle,’ said the man from AOL, ‘you’re through to AOL and my name is “Steve”, how may I help you today?’

  ‘Hi, Steve,’ I replied even though it didn’t take a genius to work out that he was based in Bombay and wasn’t really called ‘Steve’ at all. ‘My email’s not working.’

  ‘I see,’ said Steve. ‘That is a problem. Mr Gayle, can I ask are you using an Apple Mac or a PC?’

  ‘A Mac.’

  ‘Ah,’ replied ‘Steve’. ‘I can only deal with problems related to PCs. I will have to put you on to my colleague.’

  And before I could reply I was put on hold.

  After what seemed like an age I was put through to ‘Jason’, their Apple Mac specialist who took me through a number of procedures which didn’t work before suggesting that I re-installed the software.

  Even though all I wanted to do was leave I felt the very least I could do was go through with this suggestion and so I searched high and low for the AOL software disk, undertook a clean re-install and then attempted to check my email. It still didn’t work.

  Punching the air with glee I called AOL straight back.

  ‘Hello, Mr Gayle, you’re through to AOL and my name is “Robert”, how can I help you?’

  ‘I’m calling because my email’s not working—’

  ‘I see,’ said ‘Robert’, cutting me off. ‘That is a problem. Mr Gayle, can I ask, are you using an Apple Mac or a PC?’

  ‘A Mac,’ I replied.

  ‘Ah,’ replied ‘Robert’. ‘I can only deal with problems related to PCs. I will have to put you on to my colleague.’

  And before I could tell him that it didn’t matter whether he only worked with PCs or not because I wanted to leave, he put me on hold and after a decade I was put through to ‘Andy’ who, claiming that he had no record of my previous call, attempted to take me through exactly the same procedure that ‘Jason’ had previously taken me through.

  ‘But I’ve already done this!’

  ‘Mr Gayle,’ said ‘Andy’ calmly, ‘we must follow the procedure exactly if we are going to be able to help you.’

  ‘Even if I’ve already done it? And know for a fact it doesn’t work?’

  ‘If it doesn’t work this can be something that we can find out together.’

  ‘But I don’t want us to find this out together because I already found it out together with the last bloke I spoke to.’

  ‘I understand your frustration, Mr Gayle,’ replied ‘Andy’ ‘but I still have to take you through the process otherwise I wouldn’t be doing my job.’

  ‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘Let’s do it your way.’

  ‘Andy’ took me through the exact same procedures that ‘Jason’ had previously taken me through (all of which still didn’t work) before suggesting that once again I re-installed the software.

  ‘You want me to re-install the software even though it’s been . . . oh, I don’t know, the best part of twenty minutes since I last re-installed it?’

  ‘Yes, please, Mr Gayle. Please re-install the software.’

  There was something about the confidence in Andy’s voice that made me think, ‘Well perhaps he knows what he’s talking about.’ So once again I searched out the AOL software disk, undertook a clean re-install and then attempted to check my email. It still didn’t work.

  Now I really was furious. I called AOL straight back.

  ‘Hello, Mr Gayle, you’re through to AOL and my name is “Mark”, how can I help you?’

  ‘I’m calling because my email’s not working—’

  ‘I see,’ said ‘Mark’. ‘That is a problem. Mr Gayle, can I ask ar
e you using an Apple Mac or a PC?’

  ‘A Mac,’ I replied.

  ‘Ah,’ replied ‘Mark’. ‘I can only deal with problems related to PCs. I will have to put you on to my colleague.’

  ‘But—’

  It was too late. ‘Mark’ had put me on hold and in one swift movement I found myself well and truly beyond furious and now officially in the land of the livid.

  ‘Hello, Mr Gayle, you’re through to AOL and my name is “John”. I’m an Apple Mac specialist, how can I help you?’

  ‘Listen “John”,’ I said pointedly. ‘It’s like this: my email is not working, I’ve called three times now and have been passed from pillar to post to find a Mac specialist who then proceeds to take me through a bunch of procedures that don’t work before suggesting that I re-install the AOL software again.’

  ‘Mr Gayle,’ said ‘John’ calmly, ‘we must follow the procedure exactly if we are going to be able to help you.’

  ‘Even if I’ve already done it? And know for a fact it doesn’t work? Because it doesn’t, you know?’

  ‘If it doesn’t work this can be something that we can find out together.’

  ‘But I don’t want us to find this out together!’ I yelled. ‘I already know it doesn’t work and so would you if your stupid computers were updated properly!’

  ‘I understand your frustration, Mr Gayle,’ replied ‘John’, ‘but I still have to take you through the process otherwise I wouldn’t be doing my job.’

  I couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Are you telling me that you’re going to make me go through this whole process again?’

  ‘Mr Gayle,’ said ‘John’, still calmly. ‘It is the only way.’

  ‘Well, let’s see about that, because I’m taping this conversation we’re having right now and I think it would make interesting reading in my local newspaper!’

  I was lying of course. I wasn’t recording anything. The idea had just sort of sprung into my head and refused to leave and now it was out there. Suddenly ‘John’ no longer sounded quite as cool and calm as before.