Friday, 10 April 2009

Friday 10 April 2009

Good Friday? Great Friday!

Man alive, what a gift! I will happily subscribe to any religion that offers a four day weekend.

Unfortunately the reality is less so rosy as I awaken at 5.25AM (on a holiday!) with a splitting aneurysm headache. I cannot possibly curse my luck any more than I do at the fucking disaster of feeling shitty on my first (week) day off work in a very long time. No wonder I am a hateful person at times if this is how the world treats me (not to be hyperbolic or anything).

This migraine is probably the result of me getting so steamed up and angry last night about the person parking in my spot last night. I acknowledge it is ridiculous to get so irritated by something so miniscule in the grand scheme of things but it is just how the world works and now if it has served to make me feel physically bad this morning the urge to take a baseball bat to the car is more frequent than ever.

A quick peak out of my window displays that the car is still in my (MY) bay! I notice the car has a tow bar on it. For reason I read into this that the owner is a tough guy, an alpha male that has more kit (tools) than his bare boot can handle. He is tooled up and ready to go and as a result could/would probably kick my arse if challenged. Yes, this is how (the direction) my brain works.

A peak on Facebook at my last night’s angry status update sees Mark (Scorpio Scorpio) confirming my ridiculous angry as he rings in agreement with me. This at least helps me see humour in the situation and cheers me up as I begin to dust off the number of the clamping company in subtle urge to dob.

With my silly strop not really serving to sooth my head I once more attempt to finish off watching last weekend’s Saturday Night Live hosted by Seth Rogen. Seth Rogen is really likeable but just looks so wrong with his weight loss. That said the show is another stormer from season 34, not least with Fred Armisen as ever stealing the show playing every minority under the sun including a great turn as an Italian TV show worker referring to Seth Rogen fearfully as the “Bear Man.”

The music on this week’s show is by Phoenix. I have no idea where they came from and they are such a strange band reminiscent of an early very light new wave band such as The Cars combined with some faux indie-lite act. It should be the worst of both worlds but they are likeable even if the only song they appear to have ever had was the one on the Lost In Translation soundtrack which they play over the closing credits.

For GMTV news this morning it is business as usual despite it being Good Friday. The headlines today are still addressing the capture of suspected terrorists in Manchester apparently planning on bombing various structures in Manchester. Today it turns out that the majority of them are over on student visas and when I joke on Facebook “bloody students trying to bomb buildings – must be rag week” I do not clock how this joke works on many levels. Genius without knowing it.

With the morning beginning to burn away once again I look out the window to the sight of the car with the tow bar still annoyingly parked in my spot. In the air I shake my fist at nothing before resuming TV.

Back in bed I watch this week’s edition of Newswipe on iPlayer. This episode features Fox News and Glenn Beck which is terrifying and as Charlie Brooker correctly points out not too far removed from Howard Beale in Network. What is it with people named Glenn? Only in America. Stupid Americans.

From here I watch the second episode of Attention Scum and it slays yet again, Simon Munnery is the fucking man! Despite this though my headache remains.

Even though today is Good Friday a very religious and sacred day ITV still persists in screening the Jeremy Kyle Show. Surely this is some kind of blasphemy and sacrilege. Baby Jesus weeps on the way to resurrection as subjects such as “accept it’s your fault we’re over and let me see our son!” and “is my cousin really my sister?” appear on screen. Surely instead of all this negativity all that these people need are chocolate eggs and a hug.

With the sun coming and nothing to do I watch V For Vendetta for the first time since that weird May day after Justin and Helen’s wedding when I was staying in Harlesden and experienced some kind of weird meltdown in the process. It turns out as good as I remember. I guess watching it is a subliminal reaction to all the Alan Moore and Watchmen coverage of the moment. This has also seen me purchase the Watchmen graphic novel I am unlikely to ever read and also listening to the fantastic Tank Riot Nietzsche and Watchmen episode.

Afterwards I finally begin writing, albeit stunted by the headache, and actually manage to finish off Chapter 11 of Gestures which is a real relief and something of a success with my recent bouts of writers block.

Alas the momentum does not persist and I find my mind and eyes wandering to watching The Greatest Story Ever Told. This is a pretty great story. Max Von Sydow has to be one of the greatest Jesuses with The Exorcist, Seventh Seal and Escape To Victory under his belt – Jesus has range. And when Kojak pops up and sentences him to death there is not a lollipop in sight. It is the small touches that make these movies realistic.

That said the ending comes as something of a shock to me. For some reason I have always thought the Jesus resurrection entailed him coming back to life and telling everyone what clueless wankers his crucifiers were. Instead it would appear the reality of the piece is that it actually closely resembles the Gram Parsons story when I think in earnest I was hoping for Weekend At Bernie’s. On Good Friday afternoon suddenly I find myself genuinely confused.

With such blasphemy playing on my mind it is probably the powers that be that cause my left arm to begin to ache so much. As a result of this I find it difficult (impossible) to write any further and instead for some reason I find myself gawping at the TV at Shall We Dance starring J’Lo but really I am probably mainly staring at her arse. No stork however, go figure.

Eventually the day heads towards the evening and with it my plans head to fruition – watch Simpsons at 6PM and see from there. While I do this I prepare dinner and Chris texts inviting me to dinner at his parents’ gaff where they have salmon aplenty by the sounds. That would have been good.

I leave at 7.30 heading over to meet up. As I exit my apartment dump some rubbish in the bin store and see a TV in there. The set is larger than my own at home and for a few moments I wonder if it is any good. Luckily I grow out of such thoughts as I am met by the Scottish woman that lives downstairs who says she heard me sounding my horn at the parked car last night. Suddenly I feel perfect, being in a much more relaxed this evening. She tells me I was justified and we shrug/laugh it off. I am finding myself locked in conversation with this woman a lot lately – eight years living at this address and finally there is a hint of community.

When I finally get to Stanway the salmon is as amazing as I had imagined it would, it fucking giant. I am once more offered a taste but by this point I am stuffed. As I arrive I am greeted with a firm handshake from Chris’ dad, it all being very adult in the process. Me and parents – I know how to work the room.

Tonight in Colchester it is the usual fare of not a whole lot to do and not a whole lot of people to do it with but at the Arts Centre there is at least a gig. The gig is some guy called MC Lars and before heading out we check it out and weigh him up. It is difficult to work out if the guy is taking the piss.

Undaunted we head into town and tonight it feels fairly dead. On the way I pop into the olds’ place to show Chris our new(ish) dog Bobby. All things appear well in the homestead on this fine Easter day and dad happily begins showing us a “funny” Youtube link about Obama’s mum that was sent to him by their old South African neighbour that was racist. I cringe as he begins to run the clip knowing what a bunch of soft lefty shits my music buddies/acquaintances are. The clip begins bad enough, something about “Miss Anna” but when I see it lasts ten minutes I quickly laugh it off and push Chris out the place, hoping that I haven’t hurt my old man’s feelings in the process.

The first place we head to (after hitting a cash machine) is the Hogshead. Really, for a Friday night bank holiday town is eerily quiet. Is this the credit crunch crushing Colchester’s social activities?

I always cringe when I go out in Colchester these days, fearful of seeing one too many people from my past, especially people related to my career dip on Butt Road. I remember a few years ago on this night bumping into a guy called Dick that I used to play against with the old firm. Luckily he had no concept/idea of how/why I was shitcanned.

At the Hogshead I recognise nobody and this I have mixed feelings about. Obviously the louder people are the more intimidating and as we sit outside I look over at the bench where I saw that guy have a pint glass thrown in his face that time. I tell a lie though, I do recognise one person, her being the lady my ex Gringo Records cohort used to obsess about and also the person I once really upset by calling her a “prick tease”, which to be honest was a fair comment but perhaps not fired at the best of times. It ruined the evening for all (kind of). Last year after befriending me on Facebook she promptly and viciously defriended me giving birth to all kinds of concepts and scenarios as to why. These things happen.

Chris and I sit outside in the beer garden on our own and it is chilly. Its now overwhelming but just about enough to render the occasion uncomfortable. Despite this though conversation flows and it begins to work out. What was originally feeling like a laboured/forced night out suddenly turns fun. Conversation is fairly work heavy, we both sound busy at work and interested in our endeavours if not passionate.

After one drink we decide to move, heading to the Hole. On the way we pass the Arts Centre and get a listen of MC Lars. It sounds bad and our decision to avoid seems good.

The Hole is disheartening, the same old tramps that have been there for ten years. We both recognise faces but no names and no one we want to talk to. We get a seat easy and that is the best of it. Here I notice the Asian goth lady that one of my ex-work colleagues has told me how he has been lead on by her. This reminds me how he had suggested we go for drinks tonight a few weeks ago and I had not bothered to reply because it was the last thing I wanted to do this weekend and yet now I find myself in that position anyway. As the Asian and her other half sit at the table next to us I say “hello” to the guy because once about six/seven years ago I had a conversation with him via the ex-work colleague. The guy probably wonders who the fuck I am.

As the only other person we recognise here is a tubby woman that Tom once spread a rumour about having the clap we decide to move on.

We head to the Hospital Arms where we hope things are quiet and indeed they are. Conversation re-engages here after the Hole had kind of stunned us into depression and as things pick up Chris tells me how earlier this year his girlfriend’s dad died and bored of her one week later he ditched her. Told in such a brief/curt manner this is quite frankly one of the worst most callous things I have ever heard in my life. Par for the course though.

The night ends on a relatively high note, conversation even manages to drift onto the current state of my old Gringo Records cohort (he ain’t flying).

As we leave the Hospital Arms I bump into a very drunk Greeny and finally for the first time in the evening we see someone cool. He is flying and heading towards midnight on Good Friday he and I find ourselves discussing accountancy issues – perhaps not the most healthy of topics.

Eventually the night closes with me dropping Chris off at Stanway and something of our relationship has been regained/saved. Since he has moved to Nottingham, like everyone else there, I have drifted away from some very close and important friends from my past – Gringo Records is now most definitely a previous life for me now. So to touch base with someone from that era is a very important and healthy thing.

When I get in TV is dead.

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