Westminster? I barely knew 'er!

Behold! I have had a thought.

Hello!

Hi! Keeping the intro short this week, as I have mucho words to publish below, and I imagine you don’t have all day. I’ve also been collecting links of interesting things to read over the past week or so but I think I’m going to wait til the next edition, so I can do a big sexy round-up.

Also also! Two things: this column is hiding behind the paywall, as it’s about something that’s important to me and actually nice things can’t always be free, but it occurred to me a few days ago that I’d not run a little sale in a while, so if you would like to subscribe and read this - as well as the whole YV archive! over 18 months’ worth of columns and essays! - then you can currently do it for slightly less money than you would usually pay. Wahoo! Good bye.

---

A column

There's a move trapeze beginners often struggle with at the start, because they fundamentally misunderstand what it entails. You learn the front balance pretty early on, and it feels daunting at first but, once you get it, you realise that it's pretty straightforward. It does look impressive: here you are, hip bones resting on the bar, looking like you're flying through the air.

Like many others, it took me a surprisingly long time to get it, because I assumed that the trick was to find the exact right spot in which to place yourself, so your body would, as the move's name suggests, balance itself. I'd try and try but could never quite stay in place, and it infuriated me. I complained to my instructor one day, and asked them to walk me through it, like I was a child.

They watched my attempt then said that, yes, obviously I couldn't do it, because I'd got it all wrong. The balance is partly about balance but, really, it's about movement. While doing a front balance, the trapezist must activate as many muscles as they can, and they must pay constant attention to the position of their torso and their limbs. The reason why they stay there, perched on the bar, is that they keep subtly, barely moving their left hand, their right foot, their shoulders, their neck, their thighs, and so on.

A front balance looks like a passive move, but it's anything but. It's something that looks immobile but requires constant, conscious tweaking. I took in their notes and, lo and behold, was immediately able to balance myself. I looked still as a statue, up there on the trapeze, but my entire body was tense, and I was unusually aware of the position of every extremity, every joint, every muscle. It was beautiful, but it was hard work.

It's also one of the reasons why I decided I could no longer work in Westminster. I started writing about politics in 2015, after years of being intrigued by whatever was going on in SW1. At first, I was a gossip diarist for the Evening Standard, and I think people didn't really know what to make of me. I couldn't really be trusted, though perhaps I could be, and I spent my days tweeting like an idiot but it was possible that, maybe, I broadly knew what I was talking about.

I worked at BuzzFeed for a while after that, but we don't talk about that year, because working at BuzzFeed made me feel mad and miserable, and by the time I escaped I felt so broken that I nearly gave up on writing altogether. Clearly, the message I'd been given by my editors there, time and time again, was that I was too thick, immature and undisciplined to ever make a career in journalism. For a little while, I wondered if they were right; luckily, I decided to give it one last shot. I'm very glad I did. I believe it's fair to say I've proved them wrong. It is a delight to me that BuzzFeed has now crashed and burned, but I haven't.

I went freelance in 2017 because I felt I had no other choice, and I kept doing what I knew best. I made myself unavoidable. Because I couldn't have a lobby pass, granting me access to Parliament, and to the MPs and staffers I needed to do my work, I instead became one of those stray cats who keeps running inside the house if you happen to have left the door open for a second too long. I attended every single event I was invited to; went to the pub in Westminster several times a week, every single week; cajoled friends into inviting me to parliamentary bars whenever I could.

I also spent my days tweeting, meaning that no place, physical or virtual, was safe from me. If you worked in politics, you just had to be aware of me. That's how I built my freelance career: I didn't have the fancy job title, or access to all areas, so instead I just tried to be up in everyone's faces, all the time. When it worked, it really worked: I was being commissioned by everyone and everyone wanted to have a chat with me at parties, and some people would leak me stories and others would introduce me to people who would. Few were the guestlists I wasn't on. I had a really good time.