Saturday, 8 August 2009

Saturday 8 August 2009

Dream: I am hanging out with Lydia Lunch and we are really getting on well. She’s interested in mummy love but I am interested in dirty love. I show her some of my writing. I don’t hang or stick around to see/hear her response.

Today opens with me feeling exhausted and guilty. Outside with the hour barely 8AM the day is already radiant. The idea and concept of going into work today would have been an awful, I would have resented every uncomfortable second of it.

Life expectancy is rising by six hours a day according to the news. Wow, think of all those over 100 year olds walking around ahead of us. Surely they will just shrivel like prunes, pass out and die due to the full affect of global warming when it takes hold. Connect the dots people!

Work has made me feel down.

The car park at Asda feels like Mad Max 2 this morning, cars everywhere trying to ram me (it seems).

I stagger around Asda this morning not really up for the journey or interested in buying anything. I feel dehydrated and about to pass out, did somebody slip some drugs into my Berocca this morning? It wouldn’t put it past the person that recommended it to me to want to poison me.

After picking up the newspapers (The Sun and The Guardian as ever) I actually find myself also buying Viz for the first time in maybe ten years. This is due to it having on the cover: “Blakey The Ripper” and our hero from On The Buses being accused of something most heinous.

Agh!!!!! After yesterday morning’s incident with the fucked up kid saying “Jesus” guess what is on TV this morning? Whistle Down The Wind. God is fucking with me! Then again his scheduling of Soccer Dog 2 afterwards suggests someone up there might like me.

Today is the first day of the football season and with it the air feels that bit fresher and the world more exciting with it. This excitement is fuelled by Sky for some reason showing Southampton v Millwall at lunchtime. Hopefully this is a gesture by them to help ease Southampton’s financial worries, to display that corporate heavy football does still have a heart. Somewhere. Still, I fucking hope we paste them. Also I half fear that the additional revenue coming in from Sky today to Southampton will then also have a large chunk bitten out of it by the local police for additional men to deal with the Millwall supporters because we all remember Luton….only 25 years ago now.

As I get ready (dressed) to go out again I look out of my bedroom window to see a police riot van parked in our forecourt. Shit, did my comments about the police above suddenly cause them to materialise Candyman style? What the fuck, do I suddenly live in The Bronx or Compton. I look around and still all I can hear is crickets (I can’t really) but there is no indication of any requirement for such a vehicle/presense. I sense a juicy domestic and hopefully not a whorehouse or drug den in one of my neighbour’s apartments. That said though if they can accomplish such a feat in one of these box flats give them their own TV show immediately, this would some kind of feat of Jesus proportions. And I don’t mean Mel Gibson Jesus by that comment.

Eventually I head out to the olds to watch Millwall on Sky and as I pass through my frontdoor to the sight of a second police car parked directly outside the entrance to my apartment block. What the fuck is it that requires two pandas?

I pretty run from the scene after fearing the worst and when I arrive at the olds dad’s mate John the taxi driver is sat in the frontroom shooting the shit with the old man. Immediately he begins firing questions at me about work etc as I ask him as an Arsenal supporter if he is over “to watch a good team for a change.”

The game is fucking hard work. This is typical start of the season stuff, neither team is exerting themselves too much as their heads appear to be still on holiday. Eventually the plundering idiots of Southampton score a goal that is fucking offside. This is not a game that should be lost, Southampton are in the shit and there they are likely to remain considering the behind the scenes goings on currently occurring.

When Jackett brings on Price and Fuseini things pick up and change for the better. Just as the old man takes the dog out for a walk ‘Wall win a penalty, which Dunne promptly fluffs and fucks up. Thankfully Jimmy Abdou scores an equaliser with a looping header. Later we actually score a winner but somehow despite the ball going across the face of the goal the referee can see a player offside. Somehow for some reason the referees do not like us.

As the afternoon sails out it is fresh with the inclusion of a new word in my vocabulary for hoarding items: might need. The items are now to be described as being “might need” items as in “I’m not selling or throwing that away because I might need it one day.” That said if John saw my crib he would probably be horrified and disgusted.

After the football I hook up with Mark as we head to The Minories for endless cups of coffee sat out in the sun. We get that but we also find ourselves getting hit by a minor swarm of bees/wasps. Their nuisance is our discomfort.

In the end we play out a usual Saturday afternoon in Colchester at the height of summer, one that really doesn’t involve much in the way of opportunity or option.

Mark tells me that he has found a place in London, in Leytonstone for six months and that there is a spare room that he is considering getting someone in to fill in order to lighten his monthly rent burden. He floats the idea of me moving in and we repeat the Harlesden days and I jump at the suggestion. Quite frankly to take six months off the commute at this time would probably do me the world of good, to serve to rejuvenate my batteries and help me make up my mind as to whether I should move to London or not. I tell him “yes”.

Eventually we wind up in a pub beer garden. Its only a shame that other people have to be around to ruin it. In many ways though this is the best way to spend the day, these are the best of times because they used in a mentally cleansing manner that serve to remind work is not necessary all of the time.

Finally we it a night and I head back to my parents to scam some dinner before heading home for a blissful and tranquil summer evening. Unsurprisingly in the heat and the glow I fall asleep pathetically early.

As Big Brother plays out on TV I receive a text message from Nina saying “I hate her!” This then comes followed by “Are you out having fun instead of watching big brother?” It then turns out that Nina indeed hates Bea, which personally I think is Freudian and her telling me how much she hated Bella. Kind of.

She asks me “what aren’t you watching?” to which I respond “Had fallen asleep. I fancy Bea. I’d like my private parts and her private parts to do a high five” to which she responds “she would fuck you over.” With this fact now recognise we exchange messages late into the evening before I eventually turn in properly falling asleep to some Clive Anderson documentary about The Funny Side Of TV Talent.

Score draw.

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