Saturday, 2 May 2009

Saturday 2 May 2009

This morning I awaken from dreams regarding work and old friends. At one point I find myself aboard a bus with my current boss as the bus heads to Colchester United’s football ground where a reserve game is in process. The game is very well attended and reminds me of the old AFC Wimbledon games I used to go to. The bus parks on the touchline and this is acknowledged by the players but it still doesn’t stop the game. Later I find myself in a hotel in some kind of registration hall for some kind of event (vague I know). In the hall I see Matt from Gringo Records and rather than usually ignore him (as I try) I acknowledge him and get one over. I hope this is not a premonition for next weekend, I really hope it is not. From here Tom, Justin and I set off in some kind of group like Entourage looking for fun in the hotel. We ride an elevator that resembles some kind of public bathroom with sinks and mirrors inside the lift. I fuck about and put a plastic cup over one of the taps, which causes the lift to grind to a sudden halt. The other two give me a bollocking and I tell them to calm down as I remove the cup from the tap and the lift resumes moving. As we arrive at our floor we are met by some kind of hotel manager asking us what we did insinuating that we are in big trouble. We deny everything and once the opportunity arises we run off escaping his interrogation. It would appear a bigger crime/problem is at hand.

Thankfully I wake up before it is too late or too soon. When I first wake up the time is just after 6AM and I curse. I notice my TV has been left on all night and as it is sat right next to an open window it suggests that I gave all my neighbours in my complex something to listen to through the night. Still cosy in bed however I rollover and attempt to re-enter my fever dreams and regain some kind of rest. The next I look at my watch the time is now just after 7AM and with it I am now fully awake.

My computer is playing up. Or rather my AOL is playing up, the piece of shit. Apparently I am getting “no answer” but checking everything all is well. Apparently there is a “dun” error, whatever the fuck that means. I don’t have time to deal with this crap. Why is it that my copy of AOL is plagued with this dialBB shit and my parents’ copy is not?

Slowly I sluggishly pull myself out of my bed with view to getting ready to head down to Holland to get a much needed haircut.

Outside it is a gorgeous day, perfection for a bank holiday weekend. As ever I wish I had somewhere to go and someone to do. Oh well its just not to be I guess. As I get older though I am beginning to appreciate more than ever the concept of fresh air.

When I arrive at Holland half an hour later the chair at the barbers is empty and I get straight in for a cut. There was me thinking he might be rammed because it is a bank holiday weekend. Unfortunately Dick ain’t there to rip the piss out of everything.

It is a quiet trim with little in the way of conversation going on. It would appear he is showing his son how to cut hair and my basic “number 2 and tidy on top” doesn’t really take too much explaining.

About half way through a regular comes in. He is a mouthy Manc and old school with it. He acts very familiar and gets conversation flowing in order to liven things up. My haircut feels like old times as he begins going on about how Asian ladies do not age well. This is a common conception or misconception and I remember once saying this to Mark and he rightfully went up the fucking wall at me. Then the guy goes about the fat arses on other Asian women, the child bearers. “They have a few kids and then their arses expand.” He points out he is talking about “Paki” women and not Orientals. Oh OK, that’s all right then. When my cut is done I leave with a wry smile on my face wondering whom the Manc is going to pick on next.

It is a speedy morning that sees me back in Colchester by 10.30 complete with smart short new hair.

With the do I hit Asda for my weekly grocery run. Going to the store that little bit later than usual suddenly it feels that bit busier. I don’t like this.

Inside the store I feel and act like a complete victim to marketing and advertising as I buy a doner kebab flavoured Pot Noodle just because I have seen the adverts on TV and I am now very curious. I haven’t bought one of these in literally years and even back then they tasted foul. Victim. Sucker.

As I drive home from the store “Low Rider” comes on the radio and all is suddenly well with the world as I fully lower my car window and lean/rest my arm out a little further. Even if I’m not stoned when I hear this song it can almost help me feel like it.

When I get home FINALLY my retro Millwall shirt has arrived from TOFFS. About fucking time. I pull out the packaging and try it on for size. It fits, just about. Strangely however the Millwall badge sewn onto the left of the shirt, instead of being where my heart is is almost positioned up my armpit. This is expensive cheap tat and I am not impressed.

From here I put away my groceries and listen to the radio whilst flipping through the Saturday newspapers and tentatively start some writing. It comes, slowly like a drip but all that matters is that at least some words come.

Eventually my eyes wander towards Film4, which is showing the Brady Bunch Movie. This movie is great; tastily post modern and how you make movie spin off cash ins watchable and entertaining. There is a true kamikaze feel to the attitude as it transplanted the cheesy sixties robot family into modern(ish) day American and all its dysfunction. This is the way of the underdog and how modern comedy works: basically you get the audience behind the confused losers and support them until they victor. Sometimes it works and sometimes its funny and sometimes it fails. On this occasion this rocks.

Still watching a movie I have already lazily watched a number of times in the past is not healthy for me at this time and I really need to do something productive. So what I do next is head back to bed and watch The American Nightmare documentary. I could/would argue that this is in a gesture to educate and better myself but really its something easy to do at a time where I feel bored and beat. Once during the documentary I find myself nodding off but not enough to miss out on anything in it.

Before I know it the time is 4.40 and I have wasted the day. In an effort to salvage it would appear I choose to watch Quiet City. This perhaps not the smartest decision as one mumblecore movie begins to meld into another mumblecore movie. This is the wrong version of Before Sunrise mixed with a feeble and lo-fi version of Lost In Translation. Maybe. The characters in mumblecore movies more times than not tend to infuriate me as they remind me of certain Peter Pan types I know living in the forest. And does it annoy me that the drippy female lead of this movie is hot? Yes!

Perhaps with the mentality of “if they can do I most certainly can too” I finally/eventually get back onto writing and produce more blog stuff and no book stuff. Is it worth writing stuff than nobody reads?

Once this little spurt/bout of activity passes Freeview once more distracts me with About A Boy on ITV or something. I remember this as a book and reading it one wet/dank weekend while living in Walton in my tiny cramped bedroom. Those were strange days. So this movie is where the smug kid from Skins started out. How on earth is it fucking possible to ever ever take him seriously after this role, especially in such a highly charged one as in Skins. Mugs.

A day of nothing turns into a night of nothing, nothing but watching bad movies that only serve to make my brain shrink and shrivel. The night ends with watching Dodgeball on Channel Four, another movie that sends memories flooding back to a/the time we went to see it playing in the cinema in Colchester. What happened to those five years?

Sleep puts me out of my apparent misery.

No comments:

Post a Comment