Wednesday 16 September 2009
This morning I wake up at 8.45AM suffering from a dulling headache. This is the feeblest of hangovers.
Outside the sun has at least returned and things already look far improved on yesterday morning. With this in mind I slowly step into the day with some degree of trepidation.
By the time I am finally sat at my desk and PC the apartment is silent. Finally I have seen the light and noticed the benefits of not permanently streaming the TV or polluting the air with weird leftfield rock.
My peace is shattered when the buzzer rings on my door. When I respond to it with a “WHAT?” there is no response only distortion, which leads me to believe the intercom, much like many other subtleties of this apartment, is broken. A few minutes later something slips through my letterbox and it is a small wrap of leaflets with a Pizza Hut advert on the top. How the hell did this guy get into our communal area and landing? What on earth is the point of having a security door if the people ringing at the door are not properly vetted?
The sun has just fired through my window and hit my body like a dart flickering heat. The minor sensation is exhilarating serving as some kind of acknowledgment that it is a beautiful day outside and that these moments will serve me well. Anything feels possible when feeling affected like this.
When panning and scanning my computer files (videos) with view to deletion today I come across an avi of High School Musical. Is this a healthy thing to have on my hard drive? That said I scoot to the climax and the scene where they sing “Breaking Free” and once more I can only come to the conclusion that this is one of the greatest crafted songs in/of recent memory. Perhaps the jokes of it being the first dance song at my wedding are not so exaggerated after all.
A big question raises its head within my mind today: do I have a job or a career? I do not know what the answer is.
Eventually after an episode of Hung followed one of Entourage I settle down to writing and continuation of hopefully the final leg of Gestures And Expressions. The final chapter is proving more than troublesome as I attempt to bleed onto screen my feelings and emotions of that time I struggle to even recall or remember the evening near Finsbury Park a week or so before Christmas.
Again my bell buzzes and again when I pick up the receiver of my entry phone there is no reply. Angrily I press the button to open the door in the hope that it will be some immigrant shit dropping off Dominos leaflets so that I can tear him a new arsehole. Instead however it is the old guy, one of my neighbours and perhaps the only person that has lived on this complex longer than me. This is like looking into a mirror of my future.
So what is my neighbour doing ringing my bell at this time? He is taking the time out to tell me that I have a front flat tyre. Yup, this I have noticed. So what is he or I going to do about it? Forget this though I’m a nice guy and thank him for pointing this out, trying to infuse some kind of community spirit into proceedings the way he is sticking his nose into things. This must be what it is to live near my dad on Balkerne Heights.
Around lunchtime I get bored and the television comes on. Loose Women is on TV and I cannot bear to listen to anything that comes out of their mouths, I just want to hurt them. Surprisingly Mel B is on there. I would have thought she was too Hollywood for this now and she looks royally out of place. Her permanent expression of teeth and shock only serves to make her look gormless, confused and out of place. I still would though. I swear they applaud each other every five minutes for possessing a vagina.
The afternoon runs very well and very smoothly. Again productivity levels are high and I only wish I could work at/like this for an extended period. I grab hold of Gestures and knock several hundred more words and slowly I begin to genuinely seen a light at the end of the tunnel.
As the day pans out it is announced on the local news that the planned RMT and ASLEF strike action for next week has now been called off, which slightly cuts down my resentment at the prospect of having to fork out £4500 on Sunday for a new Travelcard.
From 3PM onwards I listen to Danny Baker’s BBC London radio show, which on the whole consists of his commenting on having to move to a new studio. The move is away from the building on Marylebone High Street so I guess I won’t be seeing him and Amy Lame on the tube occasionally anymore. The programme always serves to make me pine for London, perhaps in my week off I should still be going/heading up there anyway. Not in this weather!
Once the show ends I get ready to head out towards Asda and as I drive down Butt Road from my car walking up the road I spot Melchett. It strikes that soon will have been five years since he did his best to ruin my life and that these old wounds are taking far too long to heal. I can’t help but glare at him with remaining contempt, the guy was horribly arrogant and for some reason for this I had to pay.
With this thought ringing in my mind conjuring up uncomfortable flashbacks I perform my Asda shop with a sense of unease and distraction. Mistakes are made and misery caused. This should be fun.
In the evening as the Liverpool game plays out on TV in the background while I attempt to get some writing done my phone rings and it is the IT Guy. I worry that some kind of computer drama may have occurred at work but instead it is him calling to tell me how he has just seen Fish Tank and how he recognised locations in it.
Tonight I spend most of the evening wishing that I had bought that milkshake in Asda that I hesitated in buying. What a mistake to make.
After this my night ends with watching Liverpool making hard work out of Debrecen (whoever they are). Eventually they run out 1-0 winners after a Dirk Kuyt goal.
I end the night watching another Dawn Porter documentary, this time one on her being a “free lover” as part of a new series of crack investigations for Channel Four. I can’t gauge if her existence gives or takes from society.