Sunday 7 June 2009
New day rising. Up at 6AM on a Sunday is foolhardy of me. I catch some BBC news before putting on my 30 Rock DVD and falling asleep again. And such is the pattern for the remainder of my morning.
When I check my phone there is a text from Mark last night about Trevor Horn being in the Island Records documentary. Any time now Trevor Horn is on TV or in a magazine one of my friends is bound to tell me these days and I love it. Yikes, even at Baker Street the ogre boss before she decided she hated me brought in a clipping from a newspaper weekend supplement of Hook End. And Zoe brought me in her copy of the Observer Music Monthly when it featured David Jordan. And of course the American was always reminding how she shares a birthday with the guy. All in all I think that job is always going to be the one I am known for best. Dare I shed the secret that during my entire two and a half years at Sarm Trevor Horn said approximately six words to me?
At 8AM the window heavily patters with staunch rain. Where the fuck did this come from?
The whole morning is ultimately spent lying in bed watching the 30 Rock DVD on and off as I slowly go on and off with sleep. When I gradually emerge from my bed and slumber I just potter around the flat not really accomplishing anything more looking at things and noting would could be done, such is the English way. The next thing I should be doing is having a break for a cup of tea.
Around midday it comes with a real sense of relief as I discover some kind of energy from somewhere. As I slowly begin rolling some tidying of the flat actually occurs as well as a little writing and listening to records that I want to review. On Film4 is the Muppets Take Manhattan and their furry images play out in the background perfectly.
At 1PM I head to PC World at Stanway. Just before leaving I hit Pauly on MSN to check whether he still wants/needs to stay at my place next weekend but the word now seems to be he and Racton are getting a hotel room, which kind of lets me off next weekend. At PC World I purchase a 1.5TB external drive. It costs £160 and is a real beast, this is more capacity than I could/would have ever dream of a few years ago. I bet the computer in fucking WarGames didn’t even have this capacity.
From there I pop to Sainsburys because the reality is that I forgot to buy toilet roll at Asda yesterday and now I have run out (thankfully I do have kitchen roll in the flat but that stuff is rough rough rough). There is a problem/stigma however I feel in going to a supermarket and just buying a toilet roll and nothing else. Its just too obvious, I may as well be buying a cucumber and a tub of Vaseline (same judgment, different context).
As I pay for my goods at the checkout for once I use a human checkout rather than a self-service one. Just as a noisy kid screams relentlessly in the background I look up at the checkout lady and give off a grimacing and understanding smile. With this I pick my bags up and head home.
Not long after I get home I realize that my bankcard has gone missing. I look in the likely places and come to the conclusion that I have gone and left the card in the machine at the checkout. I panic slightly but then remember that there is fuck all money in the account in the first place. To be safe though I do consider moving some of the funds to the savings account but I don’t go through with such a gesture.
At 3PM I head over to the olds for the Sunday lunch of roasted madness. Today I have actually bothered to get in touch with Mark, apologizing for not doing so yesterday. Not long after I begin dinner with the olds he gets in touch, bad timing.
Eventually we meet up in town late in the day. With options feeling limited we head to Costa where we are confronted by the grand sight of a big titted Spanish woman will her huge boob out breast feeding her bastard spawn. I look up at the menu and scan wondering where that is on the menu.
The entire duration of our drinks and conversation are distracted by my trying to catch a glimpse/view of the lady lending to the kid.
As Costa closes we head back and this begins to feel like the end of days. Passing the Hole we decide to grab a few more drinks because the day feels too early to end so soon. The sun is out and so should we be.
We grab a seat in the corner and it works as conversation flows once more. Halfway through a group/gang of metalheads turns up and I recognize one as the overaged ex-boyfriend of a friend. Ordinarily/usually I tend to blank him but tonight it is not avoidable so I say “hey, how’s it going?” through gritted teeth. I dunno, the guy has never done anything to me and was actually the first external person/stranger that told me he liked my book but with his toothy grin I always sense an element of menace to him. He reminds me of a bus driver that was friends with my family as I grew up. The guy was a nuisance.
As Mark and I try to continue conversation as per before the metalheads turn it up to eleven and begin drowning us out talking utter bullshit about a series of really fucking crappy bands. Then things go quiet, almost silent, and suddenly I begin to suspect conversation has moved onto me. I attempt to act normal in the face of such awkwardness but soon I am gesturing to Mark to head off.
When we get up I wave off the guy and it is all fake bullshit nice nice, daggers in the back kind of stuff. It’s ridiculous because we are such different people with such different lives.
Not wanting to end the day so soon (again) we stop by at the Hospital Arms for a quick drink and this place is altogether quieter with an element of old people. I look across at a young couple covered in tattoos sitting almost in silence. Is this what Sunday afternoon drinking is all about? Is the depression that comes with having such a hollowed out existence. Mark and I invariably wind up on/at the topic of indie music and our youth. Its fun and fortunately we acknowledge how conversation always ends up at this topic. Honestly we do talk about work and life but at the end of the day this topic is most comfortable and interesting to/for us it seems.
Mark is back off to Germany soon which means Colchester once more will feel like a friendless place again. Eventually we head off in our respective directions. Dark times.
This evening is the final of The Apprentice this year and with it Kate versus Yasmina. I don’t think I could profess to be any better than them but really these two girls are not up to scratch, put into the real world I know people that could and would eat them alive.
As I drive home from my parents place I look in the sky and see two rainbows at the same time. Surely this means the end is nigh.
Before the show comes on I hit Twitter jokily complaining how this year’s Apprentice winner has been leaked online. This bait fails to work and nobody bites my bad joke.
Enthusiasm for the final isn’t as high as it would have been in previous years, I don’t know whether this show has jumped the shark or if I have just lost interest. Despite my initial/early excitement for the series this year I barely watched an episode.
The final task today is pushing/hawking some new chocolates at a presentation to buyers. With it a bunch of old Apprentice contestants are dragged back into the limelight including the chubby Yank.
With this they both tear into some short notice, bespoke delivery with Kate going first and delivering a poor presentation but still you suspect it will be better than Yasmina’s.
Yasmina’s presentation comes caked in “Danger! Danger! High Voltage!” by Electric Six and she actually pulls of a pretty decent job and then eventually with that wins the whole series. So in essence the girl that didn’t know the difference between gross and net ends up winning the most coveted reality show on TV. There is hope for us all.
Later in the after show Sugar exclaims/proclaims that this year’s crop were some of the best candidates ever. This I struggle to agree with.
Afterwards there is an hour and forty minute edition of Big Brother this evening, which surely means that something is going to happen tonight. Slowly over the weekend people have officially been qualifying as housemates and now it is down to the final four to contest the final three spots.
With three of potential housemates evictees being Asian it kind of looks like the Big Brother Slumdog Millionaire gimmick may have failed.
Eventually the one that goes is Beinazir. This breaks my heart because out of all her garb and dressed down she does look genuinely attractive. Unfortunately as she gets her marching orders Siavash puts a stupid hat on her head once more rendering her as looking like a joke. Painfully Davina conducts some kind of exit interview on a red Double Decker bus and when done as it pulls away it does so with Beinazir in it and a real lost opportunity for this year’s contest. Rubbish.
Depressed by the sudden state of affairs in the world of reality, this just might be the darkest day of reality TV this year, I fall asleep.