Monday 30 March 2009
This morning I wake up feeling flat. For a few weeks now the mornings will be slightly dark once more and it is rubbish. Its not this however that is dragging me down this morning – people, who the fuck needs at a time like this.
To my saddened surprise today once again I find myself having to scrape frost from the windows of my car. I thought these days were now long past/behind us.
On the walk to the station again I find myself trailing a woman walking two Alsatians strangely. The last time I was behind her she took a strange detour into walking them around a car park for no reason. Today at various points and junctures she suddenly turns sideways on them hindering their flow. I bet she’s a right belligerent cunt in real life. I hope one of those dogs mauls her eventually.
Not long into my walk today I suddenly realise that I have left my flashdrive at home and I curse.
The train ride is relatively eventless. At Chelmsford a James clone gets on the carriage and for a minute I actually think it is him. Instead its just a uniform.
In the end there are no RMT actions it would seem today (as opposed to what was threatening last week) but this still does not prevent the train from being late and bowling into Liverpool Street at 8.04.
Today the auditors are in as ever they are a pain in the arse (not really their fault just bad timing). That said I have been told I will be kept away from them because I have bigger fish to fry. Thing is, they’ll begin asking me questions eventually. They always do.
And this is not helped by the girl in the office getting on my tits.
Interestingly Bella (my Annie Hall) today adds herself as one of my followers on Twitter. Where did she come from? It appears she is launching (relaunching) the same thing she was doing five years ago. I doubt I’ll be returning the gesture and following her.
With London already panicking over the potential/promised riots and demonstrations on Wednesday news comes through that in Plymouth the police have raided and arrested potential march troublemakers manufacturing weapons in the name of chaos (and possibly a little more). Being Plymouth my mind immediately springs to suspicions of it being my ex-boss’s son, the silver spoon socialist already with a history (record) of stepping out of line. When however the ages of the people come through they are too young to be you-know-who. It would appear however I wasn’t only person wondering this as Ben responded with the same on Facebook.
Later in the same news broadcast (on Radio One) there is a story of a family of four that weighs 80 stone and feel subjected to too much abuse. I guess so but when the mother is quoted as saying along the lines of “its cruel when people say I look and walk like a Teletubby, I don’t” it is a quote straight out of Brass Eye and impossible to take seriously. This is Broken Britain, both the lady receiving the abuse and the spiteful people hurling the abuse. This is where we are at. This however does shock me at a time when hardly anything shocks me. Ever notice how fat people rip on other fat people? Its pure chronic self loathing.
In the afternoon the IT guy turns up for the first time since last Wednesday and his little rant. In such an emotional state during the subsequent days of no show we would have been forgiven for think that he had gone missing and done a Reginald Perrin.
Regardless the re-appearance puts something of a dampener onto proceedings and the afternoon, giving birth to an atmosphere as he goes on as if nothing had ever happened. The distinct lack of an apology brings me down.
Soon the working day ends and I find myself dragging myself back over London to Liverpool Street. As I change tubes at Baker Street from the Jubilee Line to the Hammersmith we find ourselves being bombarded by black girls running for the train we just exited. As one bangs into me almost falling onto my cock I actually find myself tripping her up as she regains herself to get past/around me. Where the fuck has/did this tripping thing come from? Off the back of yesterday’s tale of the old man shoving drunk women I would guess I inherited it from him.
Tonight I make a conscious decision to blow out the restaurant manager’s metal band playing at the Purple Turtle in Camden. Like a fool I handed over £10 for a £7 ticket on Friday when I really knew then that I wouldn’t be going. The gesture I guess was intended to shut him up and make sure he never asks me to another one of his gigs again. Friends in bands are such a pain and the whole manner in which he went about foisting these tickets onto us really caused ill feeling towards the event.
Looking at the “ticket” it has scam written all over it. We were told the tickets were for a charity event but on the ticket there is absolutely no mention of any charity involved. In fact on the ticket there is no name of the band’s name, the venue or the date of the gig. Basically the band has been caught up in one of London’s famous “pay to play” scams whereby the more tickets they sell the more likely they are to get future dates. The band never gets much in the way of payment (if any) for these shows and seldom do A&R men or industry types attend, more the venues fill with fat family members and loyal friends with an emotional attachment to individuals rather than bands or the music. Perhaps I am wrong but remembering the toilet circuit from the Hirameka and Gringo Records days this is exactly how it worked. So there, having squeezed all possible fun out of the evening I head straight home disappointed at disappointing other people.
As a bad day grinds to an end there is a beacon of positivity as Staff sends out a group message asking us remaining Colchester types if we want in on the Pappy’s Fun Club show at the Arts Centre on Thursday. I jump at the opportunity having already earlier today committed myself to the evening regardless of it being a blag. There is a god.
Tonight represents the first evening this year that I get home to Colchester in the light. As a result of this I notice how I inadvertently end up trailing the girl/woman that I used to work near who I quite fancy with her big eyes, funny mouth and round face facilitating the Disney-look fetish I have recently accepted.
Just by the nature of us both living in the same direction I end up following her which makes me feel like some kind of stalker. This is soundtracked by the Nick Cave “Live Seeds” album, the perfect soundtrack for stalking and awkward situations. I had forgotten how amazing the version of “From Her To Eternity” on this record is.
On the way to my car I pop into the olds’ place before heading home to watch the Japanese failed salaryman documentary on BBC4 as part of its Hidden Japan season. So my Monday evening in consists of writing and running a bath before watching the documentary from Japan.
It turns out to be a heartbreaking a film called Japan: A Story Of Love And Hate focusing on a strangely matched couple in a situation that really sees them painted into a corner. The man is 56 compared to his girlfriend’s 29 and the pair of them are slightly dysfunctional but very charming and hard working. The gentleman is called Naoki was previously a very successful businessman in Japan until the economic crash of the early nineties who now finds himself broke and alienated from his family. A former Yuppie in essence he now finds himself doing a menial job at the post office while slowly grinds him into moments and depths of depression. Naoki’s real strength (and saving grace) appears to be his grounded sense of humour as he shows the filmmaker around his home and his job where his fellow workers are classically disciplined and castrated for poor performance in the way only Japan seems to. This is new poor of Japan and while Naoki works at the post office earning about £4000 a year his girlfriend Yoshie works three jobs of her to keep them afloat living in a room that resembles little more than a storage unit. As their conversation dwindles so does their sex life as their mutual reliance on her comes to the forefront and the relationship becomes distinctly paternal, not least with Naoki taking care of Yoshie with her medication. Often Naoki expresses his concern at being so close to becoming homeless were Yoshie to suddenly drop him if their relationship were to end. These tensions surface horribly in a moment of clarity at a local bar where Yoshie gets drunk and really gives it to him, breaking his glasses and undermining him by talking to the camera in an argument predicted by Naoki. The real source of tension however appears to be Yoshie’s connection with her family and the security that comes with it, something that Naoki does not possess with his own. Unfortunately with Naoki being the age of Yoshie’s father he is not accepted and finds himself uninvited on weekends she goes to visit her family, unlike the camera crew that accompanies her. During this visit a truly comical moment occurs as her reserved father asks the documentary maker about the quality of Viagra he can buy. As the documentary plays out to no real conclusion (only reality) there is something of a happy ending as Naoki finally finds himself invited to Yoshie’s family home to visit and meet her father. It is a touching moment and a glimpse of optimism as Naoki is welcomed into the fold, much to his surprise, and somewhat accepted by her father. At the close of proceedings you come away from the documentary caring about these characters and hoping the best for them, a true mark of a good documentary.
Afterwards plays this week’s Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, during which I unfortunately fall asleep (not a slight on the quality of the show, just a reflection of my stamina).
When I awaken I finally jump in the bath and suddenly find myself wide awake heading towards the beginning of BBC2 showing the first season of The Wire. I had forgotten just how slow this first episode is and soon I find myself wandering away in distraction.
Once The Wire is over I flip channels to discover This Is Spinal Tap on ITV. It has been some while since I last saw this movie. I believe the more recent time I watched this movie was just after I bought my first DVD player and the double disc version of This Is Spinal Tap was a truly spectacular package, back when real effort was put into producing the extras. Watching the movie now the jokes never get stale.
Now with the night reaching the early hours I strike more TV gold as Channel Four shows I Heart Huckabees and the evening is finally confirmed as the greatest night of television ever. Not that I get very far with the movie soon falling asleep early on.
This morning I wake up feeling flat. For a few weeks now the mornings will be slightly dark once more and it is rubbish. Its not this however that is dragging me down this morning – people, who the fuck needs at a time like this.
To my saddened surprise today once again I find myself having to scrape frost from the windows of my car. I thought these days were now long past/behind us.
On the walk to the station again I find myself trailing a woman walking two Alsatians strangely. The last time I was behind her she took a strange detour into walking them around a car park for no reason. Today at various points and junctures she suddenly turns sideways on them hindering their flow. I bet she’s a right belligerent cunt in real life. I hope one of those dogs mauls her eventually.
Not long into my walk today I suddenly realise that I have left my flashdrive at home and I curse.
The train ride is relatively eventless. At Chelmsford a James clone gets on the carriage and for a minute I actually think it is him. Instead its just a uniform.
In the end there are no RMT actions it would seem today (as opposed to what was threatening last week) but this still does not prevent the train from being late and bowling into Liverpool Street at 8.04.
Today the auditors are in as ever they are a pain in the arse (not really their fault just bad timing). That said I have been told I will be kept away from them because I have bigger fish to fry. Thing is, they’ll begin asking me questions eventually. They always do.
And this is not helped by the girl in the office getting on my tits.
Interestingly Bella (my Annie Hall) today adds herself as one of my followers on Twitter. Where did she come from? It appears she is launching (relaunching) the same thing she was doing five years ago. I doubt I’ll be returning the gesture and following her.
With London already panicking over the potential/promised riots and demonstrations on Wednesday news comes through that in Plymouth the police have raided and arrested potential march troublemakers manufacturing weapons in the name of chaos (and possibly a little more). Being Plymouth my mind immediately springs to suspicions of it being my ex-boss’s son, the silver spoon socialist already with a history (record) of stepping out of line. When however the ages of the people come through they are too young to be you-know-who. It would appear however I wasn’t only person wondering this as Ben responded with the same on Facebook.
Later in the same news broadcast (on Radio One) there is a story of a family of four that weighs 80 stone and feel subjected to too much abuse. I guess so but when the mother is quoted as saying along the lines of “its cruel when people say I look and walk like a Teletubby, I don’t” it is a quote straight out of Brass Eye and impossible to take seriously. This is Broken Britain, both the lady receiving the abuse and the spiteful people hurling the abuse. This is where we are at. This however does shock me at a time when hardly anything shocks me. Ever notice how fat people rip on other fat people? Its pure chronic self loathing.
In the afternoon the IT guy turns up for the first time since last Wednesday and his little rant. In such an emotional state during the subsequent days of no show we would have been forgiven for think that he had gone missing and done a Reginald Perrin.
Regardless the re-appearance puts something of a dampener onto proceedings and the afternoon, giving birth to an atmosphere as he goes on as if nothing had ever happened. The distinct lack of an apology brings me down.
Soon the working day ends and I find myself dragging myself back over London to Liverpool Street. As I change tubes at Baker Street from the Jubilee Line to the Hammersmith we find ourselves being bombarded by black girls running for the train we just exited. As one bangs into me almost falling onto my cock I actually find myself tripping her up as she regains herself to get past/around me. Where the fuck has/did this tripping thing come from? Off the back of yesterday’s tale of the old man shoving drunk women I would guess I inherited it from him.
Tonight I make a conscious decision to blow out the restaurant manager’s metal band playing at the Purple Turtle in Camden. Like a fool I handed over £10 for a £7 ticket on Friday when I really knew then that I wouldn’t be going. The gesture I guess was intended to shut him up and make sure he never asks me to another one of his gigs again. Friends in bands are such a pain and the whole manner in which he went about foisting these tickets onto us really caused ill feeling towards the event.
Looking at the “ticket” it has scam written all over it. We were told the tickets were for a charity event but on the ticket there is absolutely no mention of any charity involved. In fact on the ticket there is no name of the band’s name, the venue or the date of the gig. Basically the band has been caught up in one of London’s famous “pay to play” scams whereby the more tickets they sell the more likely they are to get future dates. The band never gets much in the way of payment (if any) for these shows and seldom do A&R men or industry types attend, more the venues fill with fat family members and loyal friends with an emotional attachment to individuals rather than bands or the music. Perhaps I am wrong but remembering the toilet circuit from the Hirameka and Gringo Records days this is exactly how it worked. So there, having squeezed all possible fun out of the evening I head straight home disappointed at disappointing other people.
As a bad day grinds to an end there is a beacon of positivity as Staff sends out a group message asking us remaining Colchester types if we want in on the Pappy’s Fun Club show at the Arts Centre on Thursday. I jump at the opportunity having already earlier today committed myself to the evening regardless of it being a blag. There is a god.
Tonight represents the first evening this year that I get home to Colchester in the light. As a result of this I notice how I inadvertently end up trailing the girl/woman that I used to work near who I quite fancy with her big eyes, funny mouth and round face facilitating the Disney-look fetish I have recently accepted.
Just by the nature of us both living in the same direction I end up following her which makes me feel like some kind of stalker. This is soundtracked by the Nick Cave “Live Seeds” album, the perfect soundtrack for stalking and awkward situations. I had forgotten how amazing the version of “From Her To Eternity” on this record is.
On the way to my car I pop into the olds’ place before heading home to watch the Japanese failed salaryman documentary on BBC4 as part of its Hidden Japan season. So my Monday evening in consists of writing and running a bath before watching the documentary from Japan.
It turns out to be a heartbreaking a film called Japan: A Story Of Love And Hate focusing on a strangely matched couple in a situation that really sees them painted into a corner. The man is 56 compared to his girlfriend’s 29 and the pair of them are slightly dysfunctional but very charming and hard working. The gentleman is called Naoki was previously a very successful businessman in Japan until the economic crash of the early nineties who now finds himself broke and alienated from his family. A former Yuppie in essence he now finds himself doing a menial job at the post office while slowly grinds him into moments and depths of depression. Naoki’s real strength (and saving grace) appears to be his grounded sense of humour as he shows the filmmaker around his home and his job where his fellow workers are classically disciplined and castrated for poor performance in the way only Japan seems to. This is new poor of Japan and while Naoki works at the post office earning about £4000 a year his girlfriend Yoshie works three jobs of her to keep them afloat living in a room that resembles little more than a storage unit. As their conversation dwindles so does their sex life as their mutual reliance on her comes to the forefront and the relationship becomes distinctly paternal, not least with Naoki taking care of Yoshie with her medication. Often Naoki expresses his concern at being so close to becoming homeless were Yoshie to suddenly drop him if their relationship were to end. These tensions surface horribly in a moment of clarity at a local bar where Yoshie gets drunk and really gives it to him, breaking his glasses and undermining him by talking to the camera in an argument predicted by Naoki. The real source of tension however appears to be Yoshie’s connection with her family and the security that comes with it, something that Naoki does not possess with his own. Unfortunately with Naoki being the age of Yoshie’s father he is not accepted and finds himself uninvited on weekends she goes to visit her family, unlike the camera crew that accompanies her. During this visit a truly comical moment occurs as her reserved father asks the documentary maker about the quality of Viagra he can buy. As the documentary plays out to no real conclusion (only reality) there is something of a happy ending as Naoki finally finds himself invited to Yoshie’s family home to visit and meet her father. It is a touching moment and a glimpse of optimism as Naoki is welcomed into the fold, much to his surprise, and somewhat accepted by her father. At the close of proceedings you come away from the documentary caring about these characters and hoping the best for them, a true mark of a good documentary.
Afterwards plays this week’s Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, during which I unfortunately fall asleep (not a slight on the quality of the show, just a reflection of my stamina).
When I awaken I finally jump in the bath and suddenly find myself wide awake heading towards the beginning of BBC2 showing the first season of The Wire. I had forgotten just how slow this first episode is and soon I find myself wandering away in distraction.
Once The Wire is over I flip channels to discover This Is Spinal Tap on ITV. It has been some while since I last saw this movie. I believe the more recent time I watched this movie was just after I bought my first DVD player and the double disc version of This Is Spinal Tap was a truly spectacular package, back when real effort was put into producing the extras. Watching the movie now the jokes never get stale.
Now with the night reaching the early hours I strike more TV gold as Channel Four shows I Heart Huckabees and the evening is finally confirmed as the greatest night of television ever. Not that I get very far with the movie soon falling asleep early on.
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