Sunday 17 May 2009
This morning I wake up at 7.45 after a very comfortable nights sleep. It is with optimism that I emerge and immediately set about addressing tasks I felt too ill and tired to even look at yesterday. The cold/flu (swine) appears to have calmed down for the better now that the sad truth/reality is that I have passed it on to dad. This I feel guilty about.
Today is the Sunday of the month that The Observer does it’s Observer Music Monthly magazine. With this in mind I get up and go to Sainsburys in Stanway to snag a copy. Sunday morning is really when you need a good magazine most. With the least to do of all my working week this is the time in which I can dedicate most attention to something so trivial.
This month the cover star is Eminem, talking about his addiction to prescription drugs. How fucking pussy does it sound to get addicted to prescription drugs? Whatever happened to smack/heroin, a real drug for real musicians? “Oh dear I accidentally took three painkillers instead of two this morning, guess that’s me addicted.” Dude needs to get something a bit harder, to give him a bit of pep and to put a bit of life back into his records. Controversial videos (the work of others) won’t paper up the cracks for too long. What a fanny.
While at the “shopping village” I also head over to PC World to grab a cheap USB hub. This is third one I’ve brought from here now and cheap is the word as the things begin to falter and stop working losing work from my flashdrive in the process.
PC World is a strange store these days. All prices are dubious and suspicious. I think even their own website offers items at a cheaper price and generally the problem is that the goods sold here can be sought/found on the internet at cheaper prices and hardware sold online comes with a much more comprehensive description. That said when people from my parents’ generation need a computer or help it is these chimps in matching outfits that they will ask for vague computer advice. Do I sound resentful at having to buy a new hub or something?
From here I fly home in time to catch Mutiny On The Buses on ITV. This is how you do comedy. You take a common situation with awkward characters and make off colour jokes and observations that have to offend someone somewhere. Blakey is one of the great British comedy creations. The seventies would have been my time.
Per routine I head to the Olds’ for Sunday lunch at 3PM where I insist that conclusion of watching Mutiny On The Buses occurs. Around this time Leyland James Kirby (The Caretaker and V/VM) adds a great anecdote about a football bus riot attached to the playing of this movie to my Facebook. With the opening featuring Mr Bronson from Grange Hill (and Hitler from Indiana Jones 3) and Steptoe (Wilfrid Brambell) wandering around the movie as an Irish perv (always a star turn that man, even when played by Phil Davies) this is sadly just a really fun movie that requires little brain movements in exchange for lots of fun. Dare I add that the last time I watched this movie it was the evening after the final time I saw my American friend after our day just before Christmas in Greenwich. Nostalgia is a killer.
It is perhaps the hijinks on the screen that sees that one of the first things I do when I begin my Sunday roast is to pick up an entire potato with a fork and promptly accidentally drop it into my plate caked with gravy thus covering myself and a fair amount of the table in brown. Surprisingly for some reason my parents do not scold me like the child that I am and the reality that we can always just pick up the dog to clean things up hits us all like dementia.
After doing the usual Sunday thing eventually I find myself headed home in preparation for the week ahead. There is nothing on TV tonight just Gregory’s Girl which I think I have somewhere anyway on a DVD that was given away free with a Sunday newspaper. Scotland in the eighties was always represented so appealing by the movie industry (Local Hero and Restless Natives for a start).
Regardless of this I fall asleep within minutes of it beginning.