JedNovick

I grew up in east London, in a working class Labour family. The Daily Mirror was the family newspaper. The family fought in Cable Street. So why now do I fear The Labour Party?
Why do I bristle when I hear reports about Israel? Why do I get angry about bias in the media? Why do I spend hours – OK, days, maybe weeks – arguing on social media?

In the last few years – well, let’s take a step back. Let’s be precise here. Since September 12, 2015, it seems that the climate has changed. Jew has become a subject. Antisemitism has become a subject. Switch on the radio, and invariably there’s something about antisemitism. Look at social media, it’s swimming in stuff about antisemitism. Drowning in opinion. Antisemitism and Israel. Everyone’s got an opinion about Israel. Everyone’s got an opinion, everyone knows and everyone cares. Everyone really cares about Israel and Palestine. They really care about Palestine. They’ve never been further from home than the local Waitrose, but they knew all about Palestine.

September 12, 2015 was when Jeremy Corbyn replaced Ed Miliband as leader of the Labour Party. But nothing comes out of nowhere and when it all changed was during the Gaza conflict in the summer of 2014. Maybe I just hadn’t noticed before, but it seemed that suddenly in my world Gaza was everywhere. You couldn’t switch on the radio, the telly. You couldn’t log on. It was everywhere. It felt… it felt like a bombardment. It felt like an ambush. Lines were being drawn.

Friendships were lost, and I’m not just talking Facebook friends being unfollowed. It got really horrible. And the more horrible it got, the more Jewish I got.

It’s not even been a week and I’m tired. A month of module outlines, academic health reports, assessment jigsaws, timetables, workloads… being asked to take on a new module three days before life starts. I’ve got an eye infection and my daughter’s just left home for three months in Sri Lanka. I’m thinking maybe I should join her. I can do au pairing. How hard can it be? I look at the new students. Has something changed? Why are they all younger than they used to be?

Then I get a text from an ex-student and I remember what it’s all for.

Having your own website – it seems a very 21st century thing to do. Apart from the undeniable fact that this is the 21st century, why do this?

Already I’ve got three blogs, a Facebook account and now I’ve got hundreds – really, hundreds – following me on Twitter. I haven’t even mentioned Instagram. Or Snapchat. And they’re all waiting for me to do something interesting. In the time it’s taken me to write that, I’ve got another three followers. It’s hard not to feel a bit Life of Brian. What do they want, these people?

Well, it would be nice to get everything together under one roof. My vast body of work, all those words, all that wisdom. How nice would it be if it were all in one place, somewhere I could point at and say “That’s me”. You can already feel the celestial wheels turning a little more smoothly.

The problem is that most of the writing I’ve done is sitting in boxes in a barn, yellowing cuttings from newspapers – some of which don’t even exist anymore and quite few which maybe shouldn’t have existed in the first place. I could, I guess, scan the best in and then display it here. I could. Chances are… I probably won’t. It’s taken me this long to do this, to ask for anything more might be just too ambitious.

The other problem is that most of the writing I’ve done is under the name Jeremy Novick (and yes, that was because it made my mother happy and who doesn’t want to make their mother happy? ), so where do we fit that in? What are you supposed to Google?

I was going to write a full CV, but…. This is what my university biography says:

Jed Novick has been a journalist for more years than he cares to remember, and has worked on most of the nationals, including The Independent (TV editor, TV critic, feature writer), The Times (sports feature writer/reporter), The Daily Express (TV editor and critic, music editor and critic), The Guardian (feature writer), The Observer (arts critic) and The Daily Star (because it’s good to know how these things work).

He has set up (from conception to design to launch) four national magazines, and has also done his time at the sharp end – subbing, production and layout. He’s written 10 books, including two football books (one on The Mighty Spurs, voted “the second best Spurs book ever” by his mother), two music-based books, four biographies, including the first authorised biography of Michael Palin, and two books on sex.

He also runs writers’ retreats – http://sussexhouseparty.wordpress.com – with his fine wife Gilly Smith.

There. Somewhere round here you’ll find the start of the greatest British novel ever not yet written. It started out as a normal book, then morphed into a fantasy escape plan, before settling down as a letter to my kids.

 

Brooklyn. I couldn’t wait for Brooklyn. How many years watching Barry Levinson films? How many years listening to Beastie Boys? Brooklyn. It feels like it’s the DNA somehow, or maybe a little Brooklyn was inserted into my soul, sometime between getting circumcised and barmitzvah’d. Brooklyn was going to look like home, feel like home. Brooklyn has also been for a while the hippest place on earth. I remember talking to a friend, a lovely guy if a bit photofit Hackney, a few years ago and we were talking about, oh something, something about places, where to go.

“Mate, it’s just Williamsburg. It’s all about Williamsburg”.

That was then. Williamsburg, I was reliably informed just before leaving the UK, has “gone”. It’s all about Greenpoint now. Actually, I was reliably informed it was all about Dumbo now, but I’m staying with a friend in Greenpoint, so that’s what we’re going with.

So it’s Thursday and it’s the first alone day. Greg’s shockingly gone to work and, well, this is the challenge. I like being by myself, I like my own company, I like just mooching around… listen, I spend my life saying this, and now is the time. This is it. Walk it like you talk it. Last year it felt different. I was by myself maybe half the time, but I don’t know. Maybe because the trip was more structured. Maybe it’s because I knew that – however wherever – in a couple of days I’d be back with Ruth or Antony, but I didn’t feel that alone thing. Here though, it’s a bit different. Would it be different if Gilly was here? Of course. That would be a completely different trip. But you know, we’ll see.

Greg’s place is right in the beating heart. Like it was going to be anywhere else. Round the corner, there’s a record shop called “Paul’s Boutique” and OK, it’s not the Paul’s Boutique, but still. We’re in Brooklyn and there’s a piece of The Beastie Boys.

Immediately, it felt safe. Brooklyn – if this is what Brooklyn’s like –  feels very comfy, very home from home. Went to Paulie Gee’s for pizza (pepperoni with hot honey drizzle. Really) which is a bit of an old school institution, drank beer and watched the tennis cos, you know, tomorrow we’re going to the tennis.

Inevitably, we chatted about Trump and guns and Brexit and all that, and while the world might be going mad, here in Greenpoint, it feels like I’ve moved from one comfortable bubble to another.

It’s not a million miles from Manhattan, but… maybe a few thousand. The pace is slower, softer. There’s less traffic and less people but not, crucially, less cafes. The bit before about “one comfortable bubble to another”, nowhere is that more apparent than in the cafes. Everyone’s young, but they’re not a work cos all freelance graphic designers. They’ve got their MacBook, everyone’s sitting nursing a drink, they’re definitely freelance graphic designers. Or working on a book. No, it’s not got a commission yet, but it’s a great idea. I’ve not gone from one bubble to another. It’s the same bubble. And that suits just fine. A double espresso, a plain croissant and fire up the Mac. As they used to say, you can’t see the join.

Off to the Odd Fox for breakfast and that’s easy. Slip the Mac out of the bag and it’s like slipping on an invisibility cloak. Just another freelance graphic designer.

Walking through Greenpoint down Manhattan, across to Franklin, it’s all feeling a little familiar. The roads are wider than I expected, the side streets leafier. The buildings aren’t big brownstones that you see in the movies – that’s a different part of Brooklyn if it’s even Brooklyn at all – but low rise, largely red brick and, oh never mind, What is this? An architecture blog?

Greenpoint into Williamsburg is fairly seamless, walk down Franklin which becomes Kent, past some warehouses and, ah look. There’s a bar called The Hoxton. Now we’re in Williamsburg. Actually, The Hoxton is a rather posh looking restaurant/bar and if I was expecting all exposed brick and bar lights, well maybe they’re right. It’s been a while since I’ve been in Hoxton. Round the corner, inevitably, is Rough Trade. And in between, a café or two.

It’s not so busy here, the cafes are full and, I don’t know if this was just me, but there are lots more buggies, not so many freelance designers. More mums, less Macs.

“Hey man, I like your earring”

A young lad, maybe late Twenties, clearly a brother. We have a chat about the earring. He’s got a Star round his neck and “That’s great, man. That’s kinda out there”

“Well”, I say to him “If you’ve got it…”

We do a bit of Jew-chat and I told him that it was suddenly a bit contentious back home, that recently it’s become a bit uncomfortable. He found that a bit odd and that’s quite right because it is a bit odd.

“Well, it’s cool here, man. You’re in Brooklyn”.

I liked Williamsburg. I was expecting a network of small streets, criss-cross streets with outdoor squares and lots of hanging out in the open and it’s not like that. It was wider than that. Bigger streets. The same block set-up as the rest of New York, but it felt comfortable. Maybe a bit smarter, definitely a bit posher. There are still loads of buildings – factories, spaces – ripe for development, but maybe one of the problems they’ve got now is that they’ve priced themselves out of being developed. Anyway, I kinda expect “Bed-Sty” to be the next colour supplement story.

One of the first things I remember reading about NY was that they had 24 hour dry cleaners. Imagine a place where you need 24 hour dry cleaners. Anything might happen. For a young kid reading that, it’s an alluring idea.

So, anyway, New York. We went to the foo…. soccer at Yankee Stadium (96th minute winning penalty for the home team), the US Open at Flushing Meadow. Went to a proper theatre on Broadway (to see “To Kill A Mockingbird”, written by Aaron Sorkin, starring Jeff Daniels), saw Vampire Weekend at Madison Square Garden, went to a hipster art show based on The Strokes at a hipster gallery on The Bowery, the Leonard Cohen exhibition “A Crack in Everything” at the Jewish Museum, ate pizza at Paulie Gee’s, went to The Capri Social Club, lunch at Esme’s, hung at a cool bar in the East Village (beer and sawdust) and and a top Mexican restaurant, a cooler bar in the West Village (live jazz band and table tennis/pool tables)… I lived in Greenpoint, hung out in Williamsburg, walked the High Line, been to four boroughs (and let’s be honest. No one’s going to Staten Island, so I’m not sure that even counts), went to the “Smorgasbord” food market, drank in Dylan Thomas’s bar, ate an unfeasibly large bagel, went to the “Friends” apartment, ate pizza at Joe’s (where Spiderman worked), played pinball in The Laundry, a laundrette that turns into a bar at night (while still being a working laundry) and ate pizza.
Kinda liked New York.

Greg organised an extraordinary schedule while sorting out space ships, ocean going liners, hurricane relief and God knows what else. I love him. Well, I loved him till he beat me at table tennis at the Fat Cat. Well, it was hot and I didn’t want to be rude, otherwise obviously he’d have been in trouble.

So that was New York. And that’s the reason I haven’t been doing the day by day blog thing. That tension between living it and observing it is never easy to resolve. When to sit down and write? But if you can’t be a whirlwind in New York, where can you?

The one morning I had to myself, I spent trying to sort out where I was going next and how. That made my head hurt. There are so many options and so many possibilities. I went to the Amtrak office twice – that was helpful – and the last time I came out and realised that if it’s not making sense, then probably it’s not the right thing to be doing.

“If you don’t like the conversation, change the conversation”

Actually thought of that line while walking past Madison Ave and that was worth a smile.