I'm Just Like You Gaz

With my recent move from Chiswick to Hackney and my inability to throw anything away, I was stuck with a large amount of belongings to shift.

Gaz, a man with a van I found on the net, was my saviour. Part of me dreaded the entire rigmarole. I knew that me and Gaz would have a journey of at least 45 minutes in which we would have to make small talk. I loathe small talk. I can feel myself cringing at every inane topic I come up with. The weather, the fucking credit crunch, house prices in London...nothing of any weight or interest.

So the day started with me trying to find a car parking space for Gaz, a perfectly polite stereotype of what I imagined he would be. I found myself somewhat keen to make Gaz like me. I knew we were different but I had this overwhelming urge for him to think we were on the same level. That I was totally down to earth and not at all 'Chiswick' material.

As we were looking for a space in the van Gaz criticised Chiswick as 'mumsy' and 'dull'. Even though I loved living there and didn't share the view entirely, I immediately agreed. Gaz then moved onto how rude he found drivers. The posher ones were the rudest according to him. He recalled a story about a well-spoken woman in Kensington calling him a cunt.

I sighed and said 'I guess that's what they call women's liberation.'

In the space of mere minutes I had already become a simpering wreck. Spouting whatever shit I thought would fit the occasion. I've spent the majority of my life living with two women who would both surely be as perplexed by my comment as I was.

After my belongings were packed and the journey progressed, I nodded along to Gaz's comments on the credit crunch and the energy crisis. My knowledge of how oil is farmed is about as extensive as my knowledge of how to drive a van so my reactions were limited to 'oh yeah totally' or 'I mean yeah its ridiculous.'

I felt like I was losing Gaz.

We started on how pretentious East London was and I got into my stride more. We both agreed on how much we hated hipsters with their stupid hair and their stupid faces. We both hated the private school twats that would add a hole here and there to their expensive clothing to make themselves seem more 'real' and how they moved East to escape the trappings of their sheltered lives.

I thought to myself, see me and Gaz can be friends. We really do have a lot in common. But when we would make our statements Gaz would often start with 'When I worked on my first building site' or 'When I lived in Walthamstow' whereas mine would be 'When I was in university' or 'When I lived in New York.' I would stupidly try and make the same points as Gaz but I worried that he was grouping me with the posh idiots that pretend they're rough.

I tried to imply that by living in Harlem or by not going to private school, I really was aware of how tough life could be. Gaz appeared to buy it. Or at the very least he was humouring me. Our trust seemed set and the boundaries were breaking down.

In the final stretch we spoke of how untrustworthy certain people had been in Gaz's van before. Gaz confided in me that 'I know it sounds bad but the worst are usually the Africans.'

It was at that very point that I knew me and Gaz probably couldn't be friends. No matter how much I wanted to appear laid-back and open to Gaz's perspectives, there was no way I would start down this road.

We unpacked my boxes and said our goodbyes and I found shelter in my new home. I returned to the safety of silence. Maybe Gaz felt the same. Maybe he found me to be a hard task as well. Undoubtedly, we both settled back into our lives, Gaz returning his Nazi flag to the dashboard and me taking the f back out of every'thing'.