Sunday, 26 April 2009

Sunday 26 April 2009

Dream: I find myself in London doing tourist things with a group of my various music acquaintances over the years. Our shared hotel room is centrally and perfectly located right on the Thames overlooking the most beautiful of sights. With us is our Canadian friend and he is bothered by something, to the point of being pissed off. While everyone else goes sightseeing I hang back to speak to him and see what the problem is. My friend from Holland Park has a place close by and I go visit her where we play and experiment. There I meet some members of her family and it is as strange and awkward as you would imagine it would be.

The dream concludes with our group at an airport returning to wherever. The airport is distinctly tight, very American. In attempting to catch planes many members of our group fall to the wayside but I am sped through due to all of my papers being intact (even if they not organised being crumpled up in the bottom of my bag). The officials seem to like me and let me through with no hassle. The dream ends with me rearranging the contents of my case just before the plane takes off so that nothing in the case gets destroyed.

When I wake up this morning it is to the sound of “Hallelujah” in my head. I am still not sure whether it is the Jeff Buckley version or the Alexandra Burke version (or some sick combination/hybrid). The time is 9.30, which is a miracle for me, meaning I manage to attain some kind of sleep in this Sunday.

I am coughing and spluttering this morning, shouting out sneezes while struggling to breath through the most clogged of throats. Where do these colds come from?

Today is the London Marathon – here is an event for the stupid, well intended but still stupid. Bella used to have this thing where she would shout, “stop running!” at joggers and it remains of my fondest memories of her.

I feel dizzy this morning and before I know it the day has already reached midday with a sensation of it having been wasted in the process. On TV I find ITV3 showing Vertigo and it fits perfectly to my morning, mood and momentum.

Honestly, I genuinely try and do something of use but I just feel beat and there is a sweet indulgence in this movie that reminds me of the weekend in Harlesden post 7/7 where I caught the Hitchcock double bill (including Rope) at the Mayfair Curzon.

Next I find myself watching the first episode of Entourage to see if the series was/is actually any good. For the longest time I have been put off this show by the fact that The Korean was a fan of it and anything she liked could only ever come with suspicion, much like her. It’s a good show though.

Out of the blue Racton calls me and suddenly I have some kind of contact with life, with reality. I am really happy to hear from him and talk at 100 words a minute. Wow, that hints at desperation on my part.

As per the Sunday routine I find myself heading over to the olds for 3PM and lunch. It sounds as if they had a really nice time in Seville, which is something of a relief and surprise but mum sounded pretty dubious about the visit/break.

The dog is back but with it he appears subdued and out of sorts, out of character. I worry about how he was treated by the people that had him.

With the game on Sky being Blackburn vs Middlesbrough I avoid it like the plague choosing to instead watch Notorious the Biggie Smalls movie, which totally delivers.

As another boring Sunday comes to a close I head home, do a little writing before jumping in a bath prior to settling down to watch a docudrama about George Best’s mum being an alcoholic. What is it with football docudramas at the moment? The Damned United now has a lot to answer for.

Long before the end/climax I fall asleep and lose interest in the story. So what did happen to George Best’s mum in the end? When I reawaken The Business is on Channel Four and somehow once I find myself transfixed by it. All the great films over the years that I have fallen asleep watching and missed, this piece of shit has the complete opposite affect on me. I can’t believe at one point I thought Danny Dyer was talented and amusing. Tonight I just find him nauseating and phony. Afterwards Chinatown arrives on TV and guess what, I fucking fall asleep immediately during that. Go figure.

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