F*cking Up Adulthood

By Tyler Fitch

I didn’t ask for this. There’s no consent form for adulthood, you just get thrown in the deep end. One minute I’m jerking off my way through high school, the next I’m spending £5 on cheddar cheese. If you’re fed up with adulthood and its merry band of shite like me, let’s fight back against the conventions we so dearly hate. Join me on my runaway mission as I moan my way through the themes of young adulthood. Longing to be back on his feet, escaping the country to recover from what broke him. All the while dissecting the political and social landscape the world enters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398491809

Tyler Fitch

Tyler Fitch is making his way through the literary classics he avoided in his earlier years. When he isn’t reading or writing, you’ll find him shouting at politicians through the television and anxiously moaning his way through his mid-twenties. Attempting to leave behind a riskier lifestyle and transform into the armchair social commentator, hiding behind his words as he mocks society from a safe distance.

Book preview

About the Author

Tyler Fitch is making his way through the literary classics he avoided in his earlier years. When he isn’t reading or writing, you’ll find him shouting at politicians through the television and anxiously moaning his way through his mid-twenties. Attempting to leave behind a riskier lifestyle and transform into the armchair social commentator, hiding behind his words as he mocks society from a safe distance.

Dedication

To you, the 21st century book reader, who is temporarily ignoring the other, better forms of media that you have at your disposal.

Copyright Information ©

Tyler Fitch 2023

The right of Tyler Fitch to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398491793 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398491809 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

This book wouldn’t be in your hands without the help of those around me, my friends and my family. There were many times along the way where others’ belief in me had spurred me onto keep going. Not just their belief but their practical help too. I’d like to thank my friend, Elin, who read through my original draft and didn’t completely wreck my confidence by shitting all over it. My friend, Aaron, was also crucial in the early stages of my writing, helping me to make sense of what was going on around me, always being there for me. If you’ve read this, you’ll know that my aunt and uncle offered me a safe haven when I first left England. They brought me in, fed me and convinced me that all was not lost. For that I will be forever grateful.

Runaway

‘There are two types of people in the world.’ There’s something preachy about saying that. Am I supposed to bow, thanking you for your wisdom? I’m starting to think that there are two types of people in this world, the people who think that they’re entitled to use a phrase like that, and the people who understand that it’s reserved for douchebags. There are a thousand types of people. What you’re doing is reducing society down to how people line up on one particular issue. People are lots of things. Gaddafi was a dictator, yet maybe he was a good father too. People fuck up sometimes. In this particular case, I fuck up sometimes. It’s worth reminding myself that despite everything that led to this, I haven’t suppressed the Libyan people for 42 years under my brutal rule.

I’m emotionally volatile, erratic and blindly impulsive, or so I’ve been told. I prefer ‘passionate’. Things aren’t going particularly swimmingly of late. Adulthood has battered me into submission. That leads me here. I write this as I delve into my third tea in as many hours. Wherever I lay my head, I’m left with the sad feeling that it’s just me and my cuppa. The people in my life have changed quicker than an NFL defence. I’m never content with what I have, always peering over the neighbour’s fence. Regardless of what’s going on in my life, you’ll probably find me filling up the kettle. It’s the independent variable in the shit show that is my life. I’ll hop from relationship to relationship, but if you think I’m deviating from my PG Tips, you can fuck right off.

I caught a flight to Cyprus to stay with my aunt and uncle. I’m staying in a bungalow they own by the beachfront, just a few yards from the sand. The sliding doors in the bedroom lead onto a patio where I spend my days gazing out at sea, not today as the rain is pounding down. Laying in my bed, the windows wobble from the gust coming off the ocean, it’s uncomfortable to feel this isolated. My mind is a vulnerable space these last few months and I long for the day that I stop fucking up adulthood. I came here as I was out of ideas, I needed to recover and come up with a plan. My appearance is on the scruffy side, I haven’t been looking after myself. My hair has grown out beyond my ears, making me look like the fifth Beatle, just less Lennon, and more James May. A trip to the barbers is on the cards. I wandered through the old town in Paphos, searching for the most Western place I could, being the off-season, they were mostly all closed. The old town is full of beautiful beige buildings, stone cobbles winding through the houses on either side. Eventually, I found a barber and poked my dishevelled head around the door, its chocolate brown paint was stripped from the rough wood. A lady offered me a seat and told me they’d be with me shortly. Soon after, a man walked through, he was Cypriote and had a short, slick haircut. He asked me to make my way through, setting me up at his station. This being my first haircut away from my local barbers, I was slightly concerned I’d end up looking like I’d gone twelve rounds with Edward Scissorhands. But clearly, I’m a risk taker. On occasions, I even put the milk in first when I make tea.

To my surprise, there was no catastrophe and Andreas turned out to be an adequate barber. Amongst other things, we spoke about football, which seems to be a universal language amongst the majority of males. He’d been in Paphos since birth and both of his parents had been there for life. He was telling me how hard it was to make a living, working three jobs just to get by in the off-season. He was thirty now, but when he turned eighteen, he did a mandatory two years in the army, going on to study sports journalism on his release. It reminded me of how lucky we were in Britain not to be called upon to serve, it was so different a short time ago. He went on to speak of the lack of opportunity in Paphos, how a career in journalism now seemed to be a distant dream. I asked why he didn’t just move to the capital Nicosia, or to another country in Europe. He responded, I have a simple life here, the money is poor, but I have everything I need. I’ll never leave Paphos. I thought about it as I got lost through the streets of the old town, making my way home, my trainers beating on the stone beneath me. Why would he want to leave? Realising, he doesn’t know anything different; he hasn’t seen what else there is, and he’s content. He doesn’t need the newest iPhone, a pair of Yeezys or perhaps worryingly even a toothbrush, going by the smell of his breath. He has himself and his love, Paphos.

It’s been nice to spend so much time with my aunt and uncle, I hadn’t seen them as much in recent years. After their retirement, they’d moved from England, only returning every winter for Christmas. I used to love going to their house on Boxing Day as a child, it felt like a proper Christmas Day, as all my family, albeit small, were together and around one table. My aunt and uncle are the ultimate givers. They collect the local cats around the island and take them to get their jabs and operations at the vet’s. Outside their apartment the boisterous cats gather outside their door in the morning, eagerly awaiting their food to be delivered to them. Out of all the cats who lived around the building, they could only adopt one, giving it special attention and a place to lay its head. Lilly was the prize possession of the Davis household. She was a young kitten, black with brown markings painted across her. It’s taken a while for her to get used to me, she used to scurry away onto the balcony when she heard my footsteps. Feeding her seems to have bought her admiration for now at least. I won’t get too attached, I’ll just disappoint her.

Dating Apps

I’ve delved into the breeding ground for chlamydia that they’re calling Tinder recently. I always said I’d never use online dating apps, mostly so when I’m chatting to a girl in a bar and it comes up, I can say, I’d never use Tinder, I want to meet someone the organic way. Now I’m spending less time in bars, this line is becoming less and less useful, therefore, I gave in to the social pressure. When I say social pressure, I mean the pressure I put on myself to get laid. I’ve been on one Tinder date so far and I’ve got another one in the mix. I didn’t feel any connection with the girl, but she didn’t take me back to her apartment and murder me, which is a small victory in my eyes.

She was Canadian, and her profile says she’s a dancer, not a stripper, just a dancer. She was travelling with her friend, joining a network where you can stay in people’s apartments for free if you look after their cats. Which is actually a pretty awesome idea, I think you’ll agree. We discussed the normal date topics, how long have you been here? What do you do? How long have you been single? I then decided to bring up Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. After butchering him for the best part of five minutes, calling him a closet racist for his notorious blackface photo, she went on to tell me how she voted for him and is a member of his Liberal party. What’s that they say about politics, religion and sex? Oh yeah, ‘why talk about it?’ This advice may be best followed after all. Yet I’m just interested, these things should be spoken about. Perhaps just not on first dates. I admire people who protest and want to spread awareness for issues our society faces, I really do. When you turn on the news and you see climate protesters camped in some make-do shanty tent town outside St Paul’s cathedral, these are people with a real drive to make the world a better place. For change to happen, it starts from the ground up, if there’s enough demand for change then the powers that be eventually will subside to the tide of demand. I personally just struggle to spend my time doing things that I don’t want to without a clear and obvious outcome. If I’m only going to orbit the sun another 50 times, then I don’t wish to spend my time camped outside in the freezing cold, listening to a Jesus lookalike playing Wonderwall on the ukulele. She jokingly asked me what I was like when I was younger, and if I’d peaked in high school. It touched a nerve, I’ll admit. I wasn’t popular enough to peak in high school. In a way, my prime may have come years earlier. When I was in reception, I was cast as Joseph in the school nativity. I mean, I sat there and looked pretty, but I still felt like Don Corleone up on that stage. I’m pretty sure my sister played the back of the donkey… Her career could only go up, and it really did. She got the lead in pretty much