Sunday, 16 August 2009

Sunday 16 August 2009

It has been a long time since I have awoken on the sofa bed in somebody else’s front room. And rarely has it ever been as warm and stuffy as this. Through the curtains the sun cannot help but power/blaze through and behind it the large green tree that the sun is also cannoning through makes March look a very beautiful place this Sunday morning.

Sleeping on the floor to my right is Tom. He is married and a father of two which perhaps makes him more deserving of the sofa bed at this time (being a provider and all) and perhaps I should be feeling a bit more guilty about taking but to be honest I am just relieved I didn’t wind up on the floor.

The tactic to take it easy on drinking last night appears to have worked out perfectly as there is no sign of ill health or fallout as I emerge into the day just after 9AM. In a way I want to get home and do/face the man chores that await but also just to be somewhere different at this time is almost worth its weight in gold.

I wake up panicked thinking that I have missed out on the greasy spoon breakfast that was promised to me last night, especially in the light of our lack of food from Dirty Burgers. Fortunately though the suggestion is soon back on the agenda as Ross eventually emerges from his birthday slumber.

With sore heads we potter around Ross’s place and when Tom heads off to a day of house moving chores and duties we notice that there is a dead bird sat atop of Ross’s rubbish bin. Is this some kind of Fens mafia gesture indicating revenge incoming for noise pollution?

After Ross attempts to send me off with Baise Moi we eventually head out for a Wetherspoons breakfast hitting a place called the Griffin Hotel only to discover that fried breakfasts are now off and Sunday lunch is now very much on. Undaunted we indulge.

Conversation is tough today as we wrestle with hangovers and a sense of ill ease. To compound the mental nuisance on one of the sunniest days of the year the wasps are out with a vengeance all looking to get an in on our lunch and beverages. Eventually as the wasps realise that they have the upper hand on us they no longer even bother to attack us with flying, instead choosing to intimidate us by just walking on the table towards us. At this point I decree enough is enough and squish the fucker with the bottom of my Coke glass. I would like to add that this act is rendered after we have finished eating our food.

This truly is a moment to be savoured, a genuine quantum of solace set in beautiful surroundings. Invariably with conversation at a standstill we stare out of the window at the surprisingly pretty sight of March Cambridgeshire. Soon our attention is taken by a couple walking the hugest and hairiest dog in history. The poor guy looks as if he is dying of heatstroke as his tongue hangs from out of his mouth several times over the size of Gene Simmons. The stop outside a butchers and as the scantily and tightly dressed lady heads inside probably responding to the dog’s request of “sausages” the man is left to tend to the mutt outside, looking like a proper tool in the process. It would appear that there are three people in this relationship and it is plainly obvious which member the lady prefers. While he stands outside with the dog in hand dozens of people passing all choice to pat the poor dog on the head probably handing it some kind of headache in the process. There truly is no consideration in this world sometimes.

Not long after the dog gets his sausages and the woman prepares to give him the biggest Sunday hug back at home we pack up shop and begin to head off in our respective directions. This weekend Ross and Fiona have as ever been the perfect hosts and in some ways I find myself sad to be leaving March which not for the first time has provided a welcome getaway retreat.

Just as we stagger out stunted our emotions are further distracted by the sight of a man in a unique Bruce Lee t-shirt running with a kid towards a truck, jumping in it and driving off as a pursuing follows lagging behind screaming too slow for this day. Did we just witness an abduction? Soon the woman is on her phone screaming down the line at somebody. March never quits with the drama it would seem.

Stunned almost silent Ross, Fiona and I make our final farewells and I begin to head home to Essex. From here the drive home is a surprisingly pleasant one. This time I take a different route home, the more convention and supposedly quicker way back onto the A14 passing impressive wind turbines and the Harrison Ford car dealership before rejoining the A14 at Huntingdon.

As ever the A14 conjures something in me to cause me to drive as excess, to get away from Cambridgeshire and Suffolk in a hurry, having a reverse magnet effect on the signs that point to Norfolk. After roughly a fun hour of motorway driving soon I find myself at the Ipswich Toys R Us with the option to go to Ipswich or Colchester. Obviously I join up with the A12 and head for the latter. Here is another road that makes me drive with vigour and passion and soon I find myself passing the county sign for Essex and with it a mild sense of ecstasy takes form/hold.

Once back in Colchester I head to my parents’ house where I find myself being subjected to my second roast dinner in three hours. This is truly a mission but it would be rude not to indulge/accept.

Football is officially back on Sky now and today it is Tottenham v Liverpool. The new Spurs kit for this season appears to come accompanied with a yellow streak of piss running through its seams. It’s a fetching look. Also for the new season Sky has employed a new graphic featuring the players walking towards the camera as the team news is given. Quite frankly it makes them look like tools as they sport expressions with too much seriousness and fake intensity attached. In the end the game finishes 2-1 to Spurs which is against expectations.

Soon the day turns into Sunday night and the usual preparations for the working week ahead. I feel surprisingly OK considering how heavy my weekend was. Perhaps it was refreshing to just get away and have a change of scenery. Eventually I fall asleep early into Just Married on Channel Four.

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