Can I Ask You a Question?

Amongst my stock stable of annoying questions which I ask mainly because:

I like the sound of my own voice

I’m uncomfortable with silence 

I’m uncomfortable with questions about actual personal things related to myself

When I ask a question I’m actually just using it as a platform to tell you what I think. You know, just because I’m like that

I’m drunk

People like my questions

A combination of all of the above (not liking my questions though obviously; I only added that one because I actually am drunk)

I’m just genuinely interested in people’s views of the world (bingo!), is: what are your top five dream holiday destinations (the parameters being that you have to name a specific area – which is to say you can’t just say ‘America’ or ‘Australia’, and that you would be there for three weeks, and during that time money wouldn’t be an object)?

And as most of you know, my own top five is:

1. Alaska (mainly because it ticks pretty much all my boxes: very few people,  mountains, snow, bears, howling wolves in the ice cold night, warm fires and big steaks).
2. The Highlands of Scotland (see above).
3. New York (cool New York bars at 3 in the morning in the Empire State)
4. The London Borough of Barnet
5. Well, I don’t really have a #5

 Now those people who don’t really know me think that my fourth choice is a joke answer; while those who do know me realise that it’s absolutely not (at which point they generally tend to roll their eyes heavenwards, while wondering how their lives could have come to such a sorry lot that they’ve found themselves in the corner of a pub at 1 o’clock in the morning talking to a bearded half wit drinking Red Stagg out of an Egyptian shot glass and Jack Daniels and Coke out of a pint glass) and that I’m actually completely serious.

And here’s why (oh, I bet you just can’t wait for this one….what? You absolutely can? #RichardIsVeryHurt). I think one of the finest (if not the finest science fiction series of the last couple of decades) is Fringe. The premise of which is that most of the story arc for Fringe involves a parallel universe which mostly mirrors the prime universe (i.e. our universe), but with numerous large and small historical idiosyncrasies. A significant example of a large difference being that of the September 11 attacks; though this event also occurred in the parallel universe, the World Trade Centre was untouched by the attacks, leaving the buildings standing in the parallel universe. While there are numerous small differences, such at that airship travel is far more prevalent in the parallel universe than in our own (the prime universe) or that Coppola and not Scorcese directed Taxi Driver.

And to me that’s what Barnet is: our parallel universe; our though a mirror darkly; our Enfield but not Enfield.  The smudged parallel to our defined prime.

And I find the idea of it absolutely fascinating. That beside us, through the figurative corner of our eye, just over the metaphorical and existential horizon, is our parallel world. A universe so familiar, but so different. Their pubs alike, but unlike, their cinemas recognisable, but strangers, and their streets the same, but ever so slightly out of kilter.

And it fascinates me.

It’s science fiction brought to life, because what it means….oh, what it means… is that there’s no need for mankind to dream of journeying to the stars, to plunge the pitch black miles deep depths of the Marianas trench where no single ray of sunlight has pierced in four and a half billion years, to strive and strive again to unlock the cosmic mysteries of space and time, to – as a species – to ever look to the next horizon, the next mystery, the next glorious challenge….when we can just go to Barnet.

[That’s fucking right, Barnet]

Anyway, the reason I was prompted to recall that was because last night there were a load of blokes from Barnet in the pub – and they were very loud and annoying (but they were fine otherwise – which is to say, just some blokes out having a drink and a laugh) – although in all fairness two of them were genuinely quite funny and entertaining (in a ‘why can’t you just fall down the stairs and die’ kind of a way).

And I was struck that I’d just come face to face with the parallel universe Mark and Len. And that it was quite possible that it meant that our Mark and Len were in Barnet, and that the prime universe (ours) and the parallel universe (theirs) had had to balance things out by sending their Mark and Len to Enfield to balance our Mark and Len being in Barnet.

And it got me to thinking: does each of us have a doppelganger in Barnet, and if so what are they doing with their lives? Does each of us have a walking, breathing mirror to our soul? A living benchmark which we can never outgrow and against which our happiness and success will always – ever - be judged?

In Barnet we could find those answers, but perhaps there are some questions which should remained unanswered and some lines which should never be crossed.