ON DAYS LIKE THIS
07:00: Alarm clock goes off. Roll out of bed. Shower.
07:45: Bus to train station.
08:00: Catch train to Waterloo station. Stare out of window. Watch other passengers (City Gent, Dirty Bearded Older Bloke, Shy Blond Girl, Dapper Young Guy)
08:25: Arrive at Waterloo. Stop off at greasy spoon for cooked takeaway breakfast (large portion of fries optional).
08:40: Bus to office.
09:05: Bus delayed in traffic. Get off. Run to office.
09:10: Late, again! No hiding from the pitying stares of co-workers (“You’re for it now mate!”) or the barrage of sarcasm from the office manager, a dumpy middle-aged woman with leathery skin and a mouth over pinked with lipstick.
Welcome to a day in the life of Owen Mitchell, lead character in Martin Downham’s first foray into the world of fiction. On Any Other Day has plenty to live up to after the success of Remind Me to Smile, Downham’s hugely enjoyable 2016 autobiography that also passes as a love letter (of sorts) to Gary Numan, his pop music hero.
Two different books with so much in common: a young guy with a crappy sex life, a not so happy home life, stuck in a dead-end job, with a boss whose teeth are as skanky as her personality, but a reliable circle of mates who take the edge off the tedium, including the girl he’d like to date. Owen doesn’t get the happy ever after of his creator, but there’s always hope!
With so many overlaps, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to expect On Any Other Day to match or outdo the quality of Remind Me to Smile. Alas, it doesn’t! This isn’t an easy admission as I had read earlier drafts of the book and even threw in my tuppence ha’penny worth of suggestions (which were acknowledged!). However, there’s something about this novel that doesn’t quite kick. Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t unreadable and it does have some good points, especially the plot twist near the end, but that doesn’t atone for the uneven storytelling or overwritten sentences. Where Downham does get it right is in capturing the zeitgeist of a moment. His broad, descriptive writing paints a vivid picture of 1980s London, a city of raucous energy where uncertainty ripples beneath a veneer of confidence.
For those not around at the time, the eighties were synonymous with materialism, greed, selfishness, and yuppies (the young and upwardly mobile). Stockbroking, advertising, and PR were the go-to industries for those with ambition, though not necessarily talent. A ruthless instinct for staying ahead, no matter what, separated the mice from the men. Owen is far too nice a guy to buy into the bullshit, which is why he’s stuck in a boring job in the admin department of a pharmaceutical company. In contrast, sales manager Richie Delaney, an arrogant, sexist creep who gets off on humiliating people (especially women), embodies every negative. He isn’t particularly good at his job yet still bags a fat salary and generous expenses account!
The differences between Owen and Richie are among the novel’s strengths, along with the sympathetic portrayal of Owen’s clinically depressed mother. Emotional trauma has reduced her life to a mindless routine of chain-smoking, tea drinking, watching the TV, visiting her sister, or making packed lunches for her son. Owen knows why his mother is ill yet struggles to supress his frustration at her semi-detachment. There’s no-one for him to confide in let alone explain that depression doesn’t work like an on/off switch operated at will. His irritation is as much against himself as it is towards her, which is understandable given the co-dependence of their relationship. His mother is the only reliable parent he has while she tries to make herself useful within her limitations, even if that means making him cheese and pickle sandwiches every day!
Relationships are a recurring theme. Owen has a crush on his colleague Claire but is wary of asking her out. It’s obvious they’re compatible and even when Claire dumps her alcoholic boyfriend, Owen still can’t find the courage to invite her on a date. Do they get together? I couldn’t possibly say although Downham teases his audience with the possibility. Their friendship feels authentic, and its affectionate tone is replicated in Owen’s interactions with the book’s minor characters, including Mick the disabled security guard and World War 2 veteran. Owen is one of the few people who talks to him and in return is rewarded with remarkable stories of a generous life well-lived.
Owen is likeable because he’s loyal, good-natured, and a bit wet behind the ears, although an obsession with his penis and sex life taints his naivety. To be honest, the penile conversations were about as funny as woodworm in a coffin, and I’m not sure the average twenty-two-year-old would empathise with his genital fixation. I like a good laugh, (doesn’t everyone?), but conversations with “size is everything” nuances along with references to overripe courgettes, is enough to test the limits of anyone’s humour. There’s a big difference between dialogue that makes you laugh out loud or dialogue that’s so cringing it turns your toes inwards, and Owen’s penile whining amounts to juvenile, locker room smut!
Am I being harsh? No! Downham is a talented writer with enormous potential but On Any Other Day doesn’t really showcase his ability. That’s a shame as there are some good points to add to those already listed including flashback sequences hinting of tension, simmering rage when violent secrets are exposed, and an eerily accurate depiction of a bullying, sexist, misogynistic office culture. However, they cannot rescue a narrative that feels rickety in places and which assumes a reader’s curiosity is instantly piqued by throwaway remarks suggesting danger. Even Owen’s final confrontation with Richie, long overdue, can’t pull a rabbit from the hat! On An Other Day is a simple, ambitious story that doesn’t quite know what it wants to be. Is it a drama, a love story, a crime story, or what? Perhaps the answer lies in a sequel.
Reviewed by Juliette Foster
