Sunday 27 September 2009
Dream: I am in a shrink session trying to work through and work out why my friends do not me in social activities. Cockblock is one of the main culprits. This dream just really highlights my desire for a casual social circle and how I feel I am missing out by never having anywhere or anyone to see on Friday and Saturday nights. It wasn’t always like this, only since I started working in London.
My morning begins with watching Andrew Marr on TV speaking to Norman Cook and then Gordon Brown. Beaming in live from Brighton the place has never looked so grim. I don’t know, Gordon Brown and his jaw spasm, it makes him look like he is breathing through gills like a fish, it’s freaky. No wonder Obama does not want to hang out with him, every time he does that jaw thing it just makes him that little bit more impossible to take seriously. When Marr then asks Brown about his eyesight Brown looks like he wants to kill, which I admit also is a bit below the belt line of questioning.
As the strains of The Big Questions begin I head out to buy the Sunday newspapers. As is my usual Sunday venue I drive to Sainsburys in Stanway which is always a pleasant day and on a sunny, fresh day such as this something of a pleasure to undertake.
I get parked up easily and head inside the store. I have to concede that Sainsburys is a much better store than Asda. There is no secret in this reality just aching denial on my part. As I pick up today’s copy of the apparently doomed Observer I notice it comes with a free DVD copy of Abigail’s Party. This is a truly pleasant surprise I was not expecting. Later as I wrestle with customers failing to walk in straight lines I pick up a six pack of Bolt and some toilet roll before being truly/genuinely wowed by the selection of teas on offer. For some reason Asda does not appear to stock white tea but here it is in abundance along with detox and diet teas. This is where the gap between working class and middle class begins and ends.
When I drive home I take a different route that takes me through Lexden and the more glorious areas of Colchester. These streets and houses swallow me whole, with the sun glistening off them I cannot imagine what fortunes the owners much possess in order to have such a castle. These streets are unspoilt by time or commerce and anyone that lives here has to feel honoured and privileged.
Once back at home I get back into the swing of writing with the time now approaching 11AM. After hitting a couple of bags of white tea the words begin to flow and productivity rages. I should be happy but things never quite work out that way.
Before I realise it the day has sloped into the afternoon and I have been writing for a couple of hours.
As I tire of writing and look for distraction I find myself picking up my copy of the DVD that came through the post yesterday, the documentary Beautiful Losers.
Beautiful Losers is an amazing documentary covering the DIY urban art of the nineties with turns by people such as Harmony Korine and Mike Mills in addition to a number of amazing artists I had never heard of before such as Steve Powers and Shepard Fairey. The documentary has a skater element to it as refreshingly it steers away from an real indie music content (although there are definite hits on the soundtrack) and afterwards I come away feeling very inspired by the whole thing as it captures a great period for me and endeavours/attempts to show how it is going to be viewed now in history. There is an element of the piece that suggests the scene is dead now especially as shamelessly a number of the artists have moved onto using their creative skills for advertising corporate products. It definitely improves commercial branding but it also certainly taints the artists from a purist perspective. Regardless this is a film that excites me.
Afterwards with the night now dark I attempt to finally watch the remainder of Away We Go and with it comes a real sense of anticlimax and deflation. I wanted this movie to be so much and after a really sweet and great beginning as the snails pace set in the movie never really recovers or climbs out of a depressive din. Sadness accrues.
I write into the evening before switching back to watching more downloads. Watching Hung this evening Tanya really reminds me of Zoe. It is in her pained facial expressions as Rhea Perlman makes a guest appearance as her not very sensitive mother. I remember Mindy telling me on my birthday last year at the Cheers bar on Regents Street how Rhea Perlman once denied her an autograph. Drag.
When I eventually turn in and head to bed it is to the vision of For Your Consideration on BBC2 which is another movie for me that has so much baggage. Firstly I saw it at the London Film Festival in 2006 on a very dramatic day that first involved Catherine and then Michelle and ultimately involved me being alone. Then a year later it was a DVD that I borrowed from Zoe when I saw it at her flat one time.
I’m not sure how much of this has to do with the fact that I fall asleep about five minutes into the movie, perhaps it is my mind reject the bad memories that might be triggered from watching. Too late bub. Wanna know the baggage attached to Best In Show? Nope.
Annoyingly I reawaken just as the closing scenes play out (although pleasingly I do notice Casey Wilson small role in the movie for the first time). As I struggle with the impossible feat of returning to sleep at this time I scour my unwatched DVDs and put on The Manson Family. This movie turns out to be perhaps the worst piece of shit I have ever seen in my entire life. I know it is supposed to be a horror movie and thus grizzly but really this is obscene. It was never going to be pretty but this is just an awful film as it turns a horrible movement and moment in time into something history has proven it just was not. This is overzealous and hyperbolic movie making and storytelling of the worst kind. No wonder it cost only £3. The people that released it (Anchor Bay) should genuinely be ashamed.
After turning it off eventually I find some sleep.