Thursday, 17 September 2009

Thursday 17 September 2009

Awaking around 8.15AM off the back of what only feels like three hours sleep the omens for today do not look very good.

Despite only having this amount of sleep I still managed to have some kind of dream which involved Nick Cave staging a special gig in the form of an exorcism/séance. By the end of proceedings it is hard to tell whether the climax of the “show” is real or staged but it does cause me to hop with fear even in my dream. As we sit on a sofa watching developments unfold and go crazy Nick Cave passes me and throws a pocket watch into a large mirror near us as a gesture for us to get out. Later in the dream I find myself stranded in Ipswich although I don’t really recognise the area. I find myself in a clothes store doubling as somebody’s bedroom and I find a really nice pair of comfy brown Dolce & Gabbana trousers. They are size 36 and fit me perfectly. I sneak them on underneath my Gap combats and casually step past their owner in the hope he does not notice me (or them). He doesn’t, I win.

Today is back to the drab weather of Tuesday and with comes a sense of flatness and distinct lack of energy. I have a strange dry throat today as if I had smoked a couple of cigars last night. As a result this feeling/ache transmits to my belly and rolls over my soul. This isn’t the way it was supposed to be.

After a few stunted movements I settle into watching the first episode of Sons Of Anarchy. This week a couple of people have been singing its praises so maybe it is time to give it another go. With Vincent from Beauty And The Beast, Peg Bundy from Married With Children, Adrianna from The Sopranos and the dude from The X-Files in it the cast doesn’t let it down. What’s the deal with the Scottish character though?

Once the episode (the pilot) is over I run a bath with the intention to eventually actually get in it this time.

Eventually I get down to doing some writing but this is not before I manage to spill some green tea over the keyboard. The gods are not with me today. For a while the keyboard is clunky and seemingly refusing to work but this doesn’t last forever.

For some reason at the moment I want to try Haggis. I have no idea where this urge and desire has come from but it genuinely feels appealing to me at this time.

I have to admit to feeling the need to peak at Loose Women today and see (witness) the latest vacant expression on Mel B’s face. It feels as if there is a curse hanging over me when it is announced that their guest tomorrow will be Vernon Kay. That figures, that cockless fanny with mediocre opinions will suit the empowered female tone of that show as they will cuckold him and he will enjoy and love it.

Beyond this I tear into the “Bitch In Dubai” chapter of Gestures and really accomplish a lot, breaking the 200,000 word mark on the first draft of the book. Its pretty slapdash and haphazard today but the progression is mounting up and this was another major minor hump I had to get over.

As I check Facebook I find out that the accounts department has been allowed to go home at 2PM. I want to know the fuck is going over there.

With 3PM looming I get in finally shave off my beard and get in the bath. This is sweet, totally relaxing and long overdue. I have earned this week off, this break should have occurred sooner while the summer was still flourishing.

On Danny Baker’s Radio London show today is Evan Dando and after taking a while to get warmed up he comes round and gives good head. Initially it’s a real Lemonheads love in but then you get the impression that Baker knows pretty much nothing about Dando or the band other than his affection for the music, not least when he cringingly compares them to the Spin Doctors at the beginning of the show.

As evening kicks in and terror twilight arrives I get back to writing, downing a can of Rockstar in the process in the hope it facilitates the creative process. I sense the abundance and overdosing on such drinks was what caused me rampant Jimmy Leg last night and the inability to sleep.

While I root around for an old Jeff Buckley single (“Last Goodbye”) I come across the cinema ticket stubs from 2001 for Legally Blonde and the final happy times that Bella and I had together. This serves to depress me no end. The date on the stubs is 3 November 2001 – have those tickets really been sitting there in that place (next to my CD racks) for almost eight years? That is a truly terrifying thought.

Not long after this I turn in on another eventless Thursday evening in my life. Where are the people that used to be around me? I really could do with some of them at this time.

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