By LuckyJim

So last Thursday I went to a large AA meeting in a church hall. I found myself speaking up, saying that it was my first meeting in four years and I'd had enough of the madness. At the end I was called to the front and given a silver chip for those newly sober and a copy of the AA book. Everybody clapped, and a pretty girl smiled at me and patted my arm as I walked past. It felt like a religious experience, as if I had renounced my sinning ways, admitting my humility and weakness in the eyes of God to whom I would turn my life over. Afterwards someone congratulated me on returning to "the rooms", telling me that most don't make it. I went back to a smaller meeting the following day, but I didn't go back the next week, choosing instead to call in at a strip club and then go home and lose some money playing poker. I doubt I'll find it hard not to drink, but while I'm indulging my other vices I can't really "work the steps" and honestly take part in AA. I am no good at permanent surrender.

I'm down £70 or so playing poker. One day I deposited £20 in cash and spun it up to £100 but lost it after twelve hours of play. I couldn't sleep, couldn't stop myself playing, grew increasingly strung-out and lost it at 4am. The next day the same thing happened: £10 to £50 to zero. Then I put £22 online using my credit card and cashed out £89, but lost £50 in the middle of the night and £60 the next day. My bank account is inoperable due to charges, so I can only deposit using my credit card, with withdrawals taking two weeks to clear, or putting cash in at the bookies and only being able to withdraw once a day. That's no use at all.

One morning I decided to go for a long bike ride to Brockwell Park. Five minutes from my house I was stopped and warned by a policeman for going through a red light. He took my details, and asked me to select from a list what I saw as my ethnicity, as if he didn't have the power to decide whether I was of Caribbean, Asian or Caucasion descent for fear of causing offence. But when I got home and looked at the ticket I saw he'd written "Build: Heavy". He should have let me pick that, too. If I chose "Slim to athletic" then so be it.

Today I start work as a cycle courier! I phoned round half a dozen companies on Wednesday asking if they had vacancies, exaggerating my level of previous experience. I was a courier once before, for four days, seven years ago. I made it sound like I'd done it for a few months, though I was hazy on details. I said, truthfully, that I went everywhere by bike and had cycled in the city for years. I talked my way into an interview with a middle-aged Australian called Bruce. He did say "I hope you don't mind me saying but you're a pretty big guy. Most of ours riders are sylph-like. But you're fit, are you?" I quickly agreed, thinking best not to mention the junk food, the late nights, the chain smoking. When it became clear I'd got the job, I wanted to embrace him. I start at 8am today.

Working as a legal secretary or document specialist I'd be able to make much more money, but I found that work totally unrewarding. I took no pride when I was doing the job well; and grew bored of doing the job badly. So many months wasted surfing the Internet in a suit, and being patronised by lawyers whose achievements meant nothing to me. I want a life where I'm not on the computer for sixteen hours a day, to break free of my Internet addiction. Looking back through the lifetime of my blog, cycling has been the one pure thing, the only thing that's made me happy, the only thing I did which wasn't a vice. I want more than anything to get fit, and since I'm not one for diets or moderate exercise, this seems the best way to do it. And, finally, I'll have some adrenaline in my life.

If I can survive the first week, I'll stick at it. Finally, a challenge, and something to make me feel good. I wonder, though, if this is just another example of me trying to label myself, looking for a subculture I can fit into. I've done this all my life - being goth, an indiekid, a raver, a literary type, an alcoholic and a poker player - each time trying to fill my absent sense of identity by putting myself into a category and adopting its characteristics, only to let it go when I discovered I was more or less than that. Now for my latest incarnation, I'm going to try at being a cycle courier.

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It didn't work out so smoothly. I arrived at the courier company at 7.30am, quickly shelling and scoffing two boiled eggs as I cycled there.  I walked out of the courier company at 7.38am, told to come back on Monday since I hadn't brought all the documents he'd asked for. I hadn't realised quite how strict they were going to be, and couldn't find anything with my national insurance number (though I knew it by heart). What a disappointment! I will go back to my parents on Sunday and dig something up.

So, since I was fired up rather than go home I decided to ride the 15 mile round trip to Brockwell Park in south London and back.  Unfortunately, just as I was about to arrive in the park I felt something crack at the back of my bike. As I continued to pedal I realised the wheel wasn't turning properly. At the gates of the park I took a good look and saw several spokes had snapped and the wheel had slightly buckled. I cycled back as far as I could, but halfway home the wheel buckled further and the tire deflated and it became unrideable. So I had to push the bike from Elephant & Castle to Brick Lane.

I surrendered my bike to the expensive care of the bike shop. I told them as well as a new back wheel, it also needed a new tire since the old one was worn out, and a new bottom bracket (the bit that connects the pedals). I agreed for them to service the bike as well - i.e. check the gears and brakes, and pump the tires.   They called me midday to say the back brake also needed replacing. The total cost was £137, rather more than the value of the bike. When I picked it up I said "I should have just bought a second hand bike rather than fixing this one." They replied "Yes. But this bike has one advantage - nobody is going to steal it." The nerve!

So, in a way I suppose my not having the proper I.D. this morning was fortuitious. Better that, than that my bike break down on my first day on the job.  I hope I have better luck on Monday!