HOME / MK PRESS / WORDS / LINKS / CREDITS

Matthew & The Monkey Kettle Sponsored Think

It was while I was walking back home via the top of end of Campbell Park that I had the idea for the Sponsored Think. As I ambled back to the house, a whole swathe of sweating people in their middle age kept breezing past me. It was a charity run for the British Heart Foundation or something, and while a run seemed a good way of promoting that, it got me to thinking. So much so that I had to sit down and eat a sandwich and cogitate on the matter.

My theory ran like this: I am probably never going to be able to run a marathon. Although I’m a bit fitter than I was, my particular skills don’t really lie in the field of physical prowess – isn’t it a shame you don’t tend to get sponsored events in things I’m actually good at?  And thus the idea for the Sponsored Think was born. As a writer, my main weapon is my mind, so why not put it to the test, and raise some money for charidee in the process?

Seemed like a good idea at the time. To make it more difficult for myself, I elected to spend 24 hours just thinking: with no communication with other people, and no recourse to the impetus which books, music, or TV might afford me. A whole day, from midnight to midnight, with just myself and my thoughts. Turned out it wasn’t as easy a stunt as I’d hoped.

12 midnight – 1AM

Now, it has to be admitted at the outset that I didn’t prepare for this task quite as well as I might have done. The wily mental athlete would have set themselves up by a calm Sunday, with some carefully structured resting and sleep in the hours up until midnight, the better to make it through the whole of the next day without madness ensuing. What they probably wouldn’t have done would be to spend the day at a drunken picnic, watching “Star Wars”, eating beef, and suddenly realising at 11pm that they had forgotten to try and get some sleep. Uh-oh. Still, the die was cast. As midnight chimed at the Neath Hill shops, I settled in our back room with my notebook, dividing the day ahead into A4 pages. Christ, that looks like a lot of pages, I thought to myself.

I had instructed my housemates not to attempt to communicate with me during my sojourn, but I thought I had better make things easier by staying away from them as much as humanly possible. I sat and listened to Helen and James playing Mario Kart in the front room, and decided the best way to perk myself up a bit was to drink a lot of water, which certainly kept me busy for all of four minutes.

Helen and James moved on to snooker, but cleverly had the volume down low so I couldn’t hear it, not that you can hear much of snooker anyway. I was clearly going to have to get through this on my own. The dominant thoughts at this early stage tended to centre on my physical state – cooer, I’m a bit tired already, maybe I should eat something, I feel a bit odd etc. Also, I was very conscious of the need to Try And Think Great Thoughts – but in fact I seemed more to Thinking About What Great Thoughts I Might Think later in the day. Very post-modern.

I also begin to stare at my surroundings, taking time to look very long and hard at various items in the room – my Great-Grandad’s bureau, Martin and James’ guitars, James’ new painting. Diane had been outraged that I wasn’t spending the 24 hours in complete sensory deprivation, but I was already starting to feel the lack of things to interact with.

My thoughts begin to drift a little, I start to mull over various points of my life, my time in Derby, the visits I made to Chester while at university, while also considering various ideas for a short play I might write for a possible Paperfish showcase in the Spring. These are the sorts of thoughts I had imagined I might think, being nostalgic and making plans.

However, I am very aware that this is still only the first hour, and I’m already finding it difficult.


1AM – 2AM

It seems interesting how much slower time seems. In my usual life, minutes seem to fly past, and there are never enough to get done all the things I want to do. Now, it seems as though I can look at the clock on my mobile four or five times and it’ll still be the same minute.

I try to look out of the back windows, but it is pitch black outside. I remember there is some ice cream in the freezer in the garage, but decide to leave that until later, as a wake-up treat in the lonelier hours.

I start to think about books I would like to be reading, and content myself with writing a lot in my book, albeit a kind of dull stream-of-consciousness about what I’m looking at, and what I’m thinking about the things I’m looking at. First James goes to bed, then Helen. I am now alone with the downstairs of our house and the night.

I stare at my reflection in the patio doors. I look knackered. I try and distract myself by thinking of more ideas for plays. I am starting to have too many: I need to narrow them down to one or two. The wind rises outside. I start to consider the fact that I’m supposed to go to Campbell Park Beacon three times today ; at 6am, Noon and 6pm, in case anyone wants to watch me thinking (or verify that I’m doing it properly). Still, it’s much too early to go yet, it’s only... bloody hell, only 01:22.

At 01:30, I move to the front room now the others have gone to bed, having exhausted all the objects to look at in the back room. I start to take stock of my physical state again. Somehow I scabbed both of my shins on Friday night, and I have no idea how – my overriding memory is of doing “Over The Rainbow” in the style of a sozzled Vegas crooner. I start to think about the current state of my life, but make a conscious decision to stop – that’s not going to help me get through the day in the slightest. I wash up a couple of plates and make myself a cup of tea.

(verbatim from my book) “01:49. Are these jeans giving way at the crotch?  Is that my kidneys twinging or just the muscles in my lower back (right hand side)?  When will my tea cool down?”


2AM – 3AM

I am starting to notice how beautifully quiet everything is. I can hear the rain start to tickle the windows. And my digestive system coping with the tea. I wonder why I don’t seem to be having any Great Thoughts. My attention span is already seeming to have been in some way damaged by not having had enough sleep.

I force myself to think about William Hazlitt, the Georgian essayist who I am going to write a really good play about one day. He was such a political radical that when he heard Napoleon had been defeated at Waterloo he went out on a four-day drinking binge. I think that’d make a great story.

Sipping my tea, I consider that I might have more thoughts if I cohere them into a list. The list reads: “Rain is peaceful. Writing a short play for Paperfish is a good aim. I am looking forward to being an uncle. Will I get through this morning?  I have never noticed those pipes to the left of the window – do they go into my room?  Rain is peaceful.”

At 02:22 I open the window and look out at the night. It is really raining quite hard. It smells nice, fresh, but the rain starts to come in and splash the windowsill, so I close it again. At 02:36 I spill a pint of water on the floor and have to mop it up.

My stomach is starting to rumble. I keep thinking of the beef I had at the picnic.


3AM – 4AM

I have ended up lying on the sofa, wearing the eye-mask thing my Mum lent me yesterday. I have budgeted for the onset of madness by stating in the rules that I am allowed to have brief periods of sleep if absolutely necessary – but only for 45 minutes at a time, and with the specific aim of documenting my dreams if I have any. I am half anticipating my first sleep period, but yet I can’t seem to sleep.

Truly this is Diane’s sensory deprivation, I can’t see anything, all I can hear is the rain, and yet I can’t seem to conjure up any Great Thoughts. The only ones I can have are the mundane ; about the state of my life, or my physical concerns (stomach keeps rumbling). I do have some vague thoughts about the film ’28 Days Later’, but hardly anything to trouble Socrates.


4AM – 5AM

This is the loneliest time of the day. I may have slept for about 20 minutes, but I’m really not sure. My brain feels particularly frazzled. Martin comes downstairs for a glass of water at 04:18, but I don’t acknowledge him. At 04:30 I decide to get up for a bit and occupy myself with something to try and ease the strain on the old noggin.

Food starts to weigh heavily on my mind. I debate eating Chloe’s cheese strings, but decide against it. I start to feel the loneliness of the hour almost physically. I have been reading quite a lot of Sarah Kane recently.

At 04:44 a milk float pulls up outside. I am elated, and stare at it out of the window until it drives away. It isn’t raining so bad now. Where are the Great Thoughts?  “Shit, look at that milk float – brilliant!” is not a Great Thought.

My mum also lent me some Facial Spritzer they got on the plane on the way back from Canada. I spray myself with it. It makes me smell like vinegar. I decide the time has come to set off for Campbell Park, as I’m slowly going mad here – I caught myself clicking my biro on and off for longer than a minute.


5AM – 6AM

I stop at the end of our driveway. It is very dark still, and the gentle rain splatters on my page and glitters. As I wander through into Downhead Park, I realise there are more cars about than I had thought. I am starting to feel very lonely indeed, especially when I consider that I still can’t talk to anyone for nineteen more hours. I don’t expect anyone will even be at the Beacon.

As I stagger through Down’s Barn, it starts to rain much more heavily. My notebook is getting wet. The orange glow over the city makes the sky look queasy. As I walk up the hill towards Campbell Park every hedge, every car, every dark corner is making me shit-scared that someone is going to kill me. This occupies every part of my mind except for the part that keeps wailing “I Am Fucking Soaking!”

I consider my love affair with the Campbell Park Beacon. We always stumble up to it to watch the sunrise after Ludamus productions – plus you can see for miles across the beautiful countryside. Now, though, it is not romantic. The rain is stinging my face, lashing across the exposed hillside. It is pitch black on top of the rise, and there is no-one there other than, presumably, lurking murderers. I am really scared, and not enjoying this at all. The fountain at the end of the city bridge is whipping choppy water at me as I hasten back from the Beacon and head for home.


6AM – 7AM

I am starting to feel like I’m in some sort of purgatory. I am drenched through, thoroughly miserable, spitting the rain from my mouth as I walk, and feeling like this whole thing was a stupid idea – the tireder I get, surely the further away from any epiphany I will drift...

Making it home, I change into dry clothes, and go and lie in Wayne’s bed (he is away in Dubai, before you ask!) for half an hour as the sky begins to lighten. I still can’t sleep though, and am starting to feel very cold. I go downstairs and put the gas fire on. I lie on the sofa. My thoughts are beginning to turn more and more blank, when I’m not cursing this whole business.


7AM – 8AM

07:15. Martin gets up for work, and checks the football scores on Teletext. I put my eye-mask on again so as not to be distracted. I am feeling really ropey now. Another feature of my mental state now is that unlike ‘normal life’, when a song snippet gets stuck in my head, it is now staying there for up to an hour. This hour, it seems to be “Brown Eyed Handsome Man” by Buddy Holly, for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

I return to Wayne’s bed, starting to feel particularly mental and sick. I am almost desperate for one of my short sleep allowances. My mind feels so churny though, that I still can’t manage one. I lie in Wayne’s bed not sleeping, and wondering if I will even get to midday alive.


8AM – 9AM

I get up again, trying to get my Sponsored Think back on track. I write ‘my main thoughts so far include loneliness and madness’. It is daylight now, and the day is only really beginning, although I feel haggard and nervous. I make myself another cup of tea to calm my nerves. I now have “The Safety Dance” by Men Without Hats stuck on a loop. Who knows what unpleasant part of my subconscious this soundtrack is coming from?

I sit on the sofa in the back room, wondering about junipers – what they look like, what they’re for. I am feeling low, but push on – this must be The Wall. It is still raining. James’ alarm goes off upstairs, so people will start getting up soon.


9AM – 10AM

As the rest of the house wakes up, I head back to Wayne’s bed, where I now have “Sober” by Tool buzzing in my brain. After another frustrating period of not sleeping, I decide to have a bath. In my normal routine, having a bath is a surefire way of generating thoughts, and it certainly calms me down a little and staves off the chill I seem to have caught in the Campbell Park deluge.

I am still feeling rotten, though, and this point was the closest I came to giving the whole thing up and trying to do it again in the coming days under slightly better-prepared circumstances. On reflection, though, I’m glad I didn’t – what saved me was that on returning to my own bed, where Helen was sitting reading and pointedly not communicating with me, I finally managed to get a short period of sleep.


10AM – 11AM

Zzzzzzz. No dreams, but on waking, I immediately felt a lot better. Much less queasy, certainly far less mental. Thank Christ – I’m almost halfway through, and maybe I won’t die after all. Perhaps I’ll even be able to have some thoughts now. My first thought is – I am absolutely fucking starving.

I meander to the Neath Hill shops, where I purchase some sandwiches and some vegetable grill things, without looking at or talking to the girl behind the counter. She probably thinks I’m either rude or mental. She’s probably right.


11AM – Noon

I can see the Halfway Point looming now, and it boosts my spirits immensely. I sit in the back room while my grills cook, and eat mini Jaffa cakes in the meantime. I had such an unpleasant time at the Beacon at 6am that I elect to miss the midday appointment – I am extremely sorry to anyone that was there to see me, but it’s several weeks later when I type this up, and so far no one has told me they were, so I guess it was the right decision.

It has stopped raining, and although it’s overcast, I see some brighter patches to the North. I am a lot calmer now, and am starting to plan the second half of my Sponsored Think – I definitely need to conserve energy, so a couple more short sleeps sound like a good idea, but I’m frustrated by the lack of quality thoughts I’m having, so I reckon I also need to go Out and About.


Noon – 1PM

Now Helen is up, I can use my room as another place to sit with different things to look at. However, more so than any other room in the house, my room is full of stimuli that I’ve not allowed myself to experience. The shelves are full of books I can’t read, CDs and tapes I can’t listen to, and films I can’t watch – not to mention a computer full of games I can’t play. And what has clearing my mind of all these stimuli shown me?  That without stimuli, the mind doesn’t have as many thoughts as you’d think!  Sounds so obvious that I guess I should have guessed that would be a major conclusion of the day. Gah!

So I have another brief period of sleep, instead.


1PM – 2PM

A little more refreshed, I wash up again, and decide it’s time to leave the house. Nothing is inspiring me here, and it’s in fact constricting me, especially now I feel less mental and more ready for considered Thought.

So I set out on an undetermined path, which I find leads me down to a bench by the canal. I sit and look at the water. It’s a nice day now, and I feel a bit less seedy than writing in a flooded underpass at 5am. The breeze is in the silver birch, the air is fresh, although I still appear to have some kind of indigestion. I wish I could talk to someone. I resolve to follow the canal south for a time.

I find another bench by the canal, now in Downhead Park. I have a vague inkling that my feet are leading me to the Peace Pagoda, but why, I’m not sure. The tunes in my head are back : “Hey Mr DJ, I Thought You Said We Had A Deal” by They Might Be Giants is the current random play.


2PM – 3PM

Drifting past Willen shops, I buy a disposable camera so as to document the latter stages of my Sponsored Think. All doubts that I can make it to midnight are now gone, although I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going.

I do make it to the Peace Pagoda, where I sit at the top of the slope overlooking the north half of the lake. I attempt to sketch the scene in front of me, but as I’m pretty bollocks at drawing even when not sleep-deprived, it doesn’t really resemble anything.

A clear thought now I am out here on a sunny afternoon is the Beauty of Nature. Again, not the most original of Great Thoughts, but as I haven’t had one for many hours now, I decide it’s probably the best I’m going to be able to come up with for now.


3PM – 4PM

Part of me considers staying out until my appointment at The Beacon at 18:00, but my body protests, so I slowly drag it home, and let it have another short sleep, my third so far. I don’t know if it’s anything to do with lack of sleep, but in none of these brief respites do I have any dreams that I remember. Part of me doesn't even really feel asleep, it’s more like a kind of painful half-doze. Still, I am alive.


4PM – 5PM

‘16:36. Fooo. I might have another bath.’


5PM – 6PM

Rejuvenated by another bath, and a clean set of clothes, I set off on my final journey into the city of this 24 hours. Walking up a redway I have never been on before, up through Downhead Park, I emerge at the extreme east end of Campbell Park.

It is a lovely afternoon now, and as I walk slowly up towards the city, I discover an underpass filled with the dying golden sunlight of an October afternoon. I sit here for about ten minutes, enjoying the near-silence which has begun to occupy my brain as the day wanes on. I feel safe and calm, very different from the Campbell Park at the other end of the day. Somewhere in my head a metaphor about climbing Mount Doom dances, but I’m too warm and content to indulge it further.

I trek on through the twisting lanes, observing the tiny streams and wondering when I’m going to be able to buy a Powerade or something like that, but for the first time in the day, I am truly happy in my quiet solitude. I plan to sweep around the base of the Beacon hill and up the gentler slope of the shoulder, but at the last minute I am struck with a sense of desperate bravado, and plunge straight up the steep slope to the summit.

This time I’m not alone – none of my observers are there, but a couple with a dog look at me suspiciously as I sit down and gaze cheerfully into the distance, occasionally snapping away with my disposable camera. I have made it. The day is three-quarters done. It’s literally all downhill from here.


6PM – 7PM

I mosey on home, stopping only to silently buy some Powerade and sandwiches and cheese-based snack food. It is quiet at home, everyone is out. I feel very quiet and centred now, although this may be lack of sleep. I am almost in a kind of waking sleep, and feel very odd, although not sick or mad any more.


7PM – 8PM

I have eaten, and I feel like I have entered the Endgame. It is dark. I start to look forward to the immense sleep that will surely (hopefully!) take me at the end of this trek. I am starting to feel like I have actually enjoyed the experience, despite the lack of Great Thoughts. I have resigned myself now to the fact that they are not going to come (see Conclusion), and am merely content to hobble to the finish line.

19:19 : ‘I am so bored. I can’t think of anything to do. I am too tired to write anything.’

The one thing keeping me going is the idea of Tomorrow : Sleep, rest, and being able to Talk To People again.


8PM – 9PM

I find myself sitting on my bed, looking at the walls. James came home and then went out again. Martin is in his room. I consider having another bath, but that’d just be crazy. I haven’t used up all of the film on my camera, so I take a few shots of random objects, to keep my mind working. I wonder what’s on television.

9PM – 10PM

It is getting harder and harder to stay awake. I have another 45-minute sleep, using my unpleasantly loud alarm clock to stop me just crashing out. It is increasingly difficult to wake up again. I am almost there. I have another desperate cup of tea.


10PM – 11PM

I have another 45-minute sleep. There is nothing else to do. I can’t think of anything other than Midnight. It starts to loom in my mind.

11PM – Midnight

And one more 45-minute sleep, and I have made it. I take a photograph of the clock to prove it, then gratefully crash down into a heavy sleep which lasts until 11AM the next day and contains weird dreams about Ludamus putting on a play about Wizards!


CONCLUSION

Thank Christ!  I made it!  That’s my main conclusion, especially after the near-abortion at 10AM. As you’ll have seen, I didn’t have any Great Thoughts, my concerns mainly being: I Am Tired, I Am Hungry, I Wish I Wasn’t Doing This, I Wish I Was Having Sex, I Am Going Mad, with a small side salad of Isn’t Nature Marvellous, and general flickering thoughts about The State Of My Life. But the thing I felt the most keenly was the lack of stimuli – the sheer amount of your thinking time which gets taken up with distracting yourself with Other Things.

In email conversation with Cissy Aeon since then, I think I've got it pegged a bit better. When you surround yourself with input, occasionally you get a brilliant, original thought come out of the blue as if from nowhere. But it's there all the time, just to the edge of your sight, waiting for the right moment. However, you can't just go looking for it. As soon as you try and look directly at it, it's moved again. And that's what happened to me. Plus the fact I was knackered and hung-over, of course.

All in all, it was far more difficult than I had anticipated, and though it hadn’t seemed like it on the surface, it was far nearer Diane’s sensory deprivation than I had wanted – not all boxes are physical, it turns out. But I did it. I thought for 24 hours, even when I wasn’t thinking. Now give me your money. Thanks.

HOME / MK PRESS / WORDS / LINKS / CREDITS