The Worst Thing That Could Possibly Happen

There are some evenings where I come home, sit down and think: how ridiculously lucky am I that this is my life?! Like genuinely, how?! Little Tiger inviting me to Studio Stories for an intimate evening celebrating Guy Bass and David Roberts’ The Worst Thing That Could Possibly Happen was very much one of those evenings. Even getting to the venue felt suitably on theme, slipping down a fairly unassuming street in Hackney, entering through a barred side door, immediately heading upstairs and suddenly finding ourselves transported into this beautiful little world tucked away behind it. The whole evening had this beautifully sophisticated spooky elegance to it. Gorgeous touches (the calla lilies & candle combo?! DIVINE!!), incredible food and a stunning black, white & red book ready to be devoured. Meanwhile, somewhere underneath whatever vaguely ‘respectable’ outfit I’d managed to put on, the little scruffy, feral vagabond child in me was absolutely gagged that they get invited to fancy shmancy, fine-dining, high-literature, arty engagements like this. I was far too busy shoving delicious conversations into my ears to eat my incredible dinner at any kind of respectable human pace and obviously ended up gobbling it up like a goblin before disappearing straight back into whatever strange conversational rabbit hole we’d fallen into. And there were many, many, maaaaaanny rabbit holes! Talking to Guy and David was mind-blowingly fun and unexpectedly soul-reviving. There was just this abundance of everything I love talking about: weirdness, identity, childhood, adulthood, books, art, TV and film, horror, existence, creativity and all the strange little things in life that make us who we are. No pretence. Just total openness. We'd somehow go from something ridiculous to something incredibly deep and meaningful, then veer smack bang into the bizarre again. Portals within portals, side doors into other worlds and back again. It was completely my kind of ‘small talk’. I realised at some point during the night that I'd also forgotten to monitor myself. I wasn't over-analysing every minute whether I was being too loud, too excited, too common, too silly, too spooky or generally just ‘too much’. I was just there, enthusiastically contributing to this great big strange tangle of ideas. And that caught me a bit off guard, to be completely open with you. It’s been a rough old year for me. I was exhausted, my chronic illnesses and disabilities were making themselves thoroughly known, imposter syndrome had rooted itself deep in my psyche fibres and somewhere along the way I'd started shrinking myself in spaces I once felt overjoyed to be in. I also think neurodivergence complicates this whole smorgasbord of professional/private perception too. I don't really know how to love things a ‘sensible amount’. Moderation? Never met her. Don’t think I ever want to. She sounds hideously dull. When something tickles my brain, I want to know everything about it. I love it til it consumes me. Obsessively collecting everything about it (yes, Anoka Halloween pin badges, I'm talking about you!). Somewhere along the way I'd started editing all of that out of me. Not consciously, necessarily. Just little adjustments here and there towards something I thought might be more ‘professionally palatable’ on these occasions. Yet here I was at this beautiful table with two extraordinarily creative people, having these sprawlingly strange, brilliantly unfiltered conversations, and all those bits I'd been turning down were actually the connective tissue of conversation. I don't think Guy or David could possibly have known any of this was quietly rattling around inside my brain that evening. I certainly wasn't announcing an impending identity crisis or burnout breakdown between courses. They were simply being authentically and abundantly themselves and somewhere amongst all that chit chat, I realised I was doing the same. Which makes it all rather fitting that the book waiting for me on that table was The Worst Thing That Could Possibly Happen… because it definitely didn't. In fact, I'd say this night was the BEST thing that could possibly have happened! Cheesy, but absolutely heartfelt and true. So thank you Kirsten, Jasmin, Finn and the whole Little Tiger team for continuing to make room for this occasionally scruffy loud goblin at your beautifully laid table. Please know, I never take these invitations for granted. Thank you Guy and David for one of the deepest, widest and most wonderfully bizarre conversations I had all summer. You couldn't possibly have known what was going on inside my head that evening, but I'm very glad our respective weird little worlds collided. And thank you to Studio Stories for feeding me considerably better than my appalling between-conversation gobbling suggested. Here’s to finding our kind of weirdos through every side door!