Tuesday 17 November 2009
Today is my car crash day. It is now five years to the day that I was sacked by Butt Road for the blogging incident which was a horrible experience I don’t think I would wish onto anyone. Almost.
It is also seven years since the Sunday night where I told Matt that I didn’t want to do Gringo Records anymore as he requested that we change the address of the label to Nottingham taking away the final portion of Gringo that remained in my control. He didn’t start the label but he sure fucking finished it.
So in a word today is my own personal bad fortune day and as a result I have decided to take it off and not leave the house. Any excuse to book a day’s holiday off from work.
I begin the day by watching the penultimate episode of Curb season 7. For some reason Tom thinks that this is the finale but as it comes to a close there are so many loose ends that need tying up that mean this just cannot be the ending. Tom appears to think that this is the height of comedy but I only consider it so so, good but not great.
As I begin writing I look out from my writing desk window to see a group of soldiers erecting a tent. Has my day of bad fortune brought about the beginning of World War III?
At 9.47AM I receive five text messages from The Girl. Leave me alone, this is my day off. My day of bad fortune waiting to happen.
Watching the daytime subtle propaganda on TV I come across a public service advert condemning those on welfare that may be doing a bit of cash in hand work. Suddenly it would seem “benefit cheats” are now “benefit thieves.” That seems a bit heavy handed to me.
For some reason Channel Four daytime TV is currently amazing. It is almost like watching the Paramount Channel/Comedy Central as US sitcom after sitcom (Frasier, Friends, Will & Grace, Big Bang Theory) hits before mutating into Ugly Betty.
Outside it turns out to be a beautiful sunny day. This is not the kind of weather I would dare expect on my unfortunate day, perhaps it is indicative of a change in fortune. I even feel the confidence to squeeze open my window slightly. All in all it gives off the vision of this being a perfect day. Really as result I should leave the house and go out to enjoy it but part of me suspects I would just get involved in some kind of traffic accident, such is the apparent hex.
Around lunchtime the soldiers begin to pack up their tent. War is over it would seem. I raise an eyebrow as to just what that little exercise was about. I still find it pretty alarming to have the rear of my apartment looking over army barracks. I live in a world where I find soldiers intimidating and a nuisance. Away from causing trouble in town centres and nightclubs it must be a terrible existence to consider that they could at any moment be whisked away to the desert where they could be turned into bomb fodder as they patrol planes and caves looking for an invisible enemy in the form of chancing opportunist local terrorists. I am pretty sure I earn significantly more income than these people but do not risk my life daily in the process. What kind of mindset must it take for a person to decide that they want to be a soldier in this day and age? We live in a terrifying world.
Keeping up with the TV heaven schedule for some reason Channel Four have decided to show Planet Of The Apes as the afternoon film for a school and workday. Surely this is tempting truancy. Really what is the thinking and mentality behind showing it at this time? Are there really housewives, toddlers and unemployed people out there that have never seen this movie? I would imagine with those demographics usually in an altered state during daytime (with a wee tipple taken by all) the sight of talking apes could cause/create some kind of mental collapse.
I take a break from writing to watch the movie and the first thing that becomes apparent is that Taylor (Charlton Heston) is arrogant and a dickhead. Perhaps this perception comes coupled with his reputation in later years (yay NRA but nay hip hop). Later however to counteract this, his mute girlfriend Nova turns out to be a fox. Why didn’t she have a career?
The weird thing is that I had forgotten that beyond the spectacle and gimmick of talking apes the film is actually pretty slow and often very dull. Heston comes over as a truly charm free zone and any serious point that the movie attempts to make is expensed at the ridiculousness (but fun) of the ape’s costumes. Perhaps my memory fails me but I do remember all the sequels kicking this movie’s arse.
It is perhaps the worst comment or review of the movie possible that before the end of it I do find myself scouring the internet for porn. Public disgrace indeed.
Eventually I end up playing out the afternoon by listening to Danny Baker’s Radio London show before I find myself having a quick MSN conversation with Lee. How green was our valley? Damn there is not much going on in Colchester these days.
At 5PM I hop into the bath that I had been intending to hit all afternoon. Thankfully I am so crap at running baths that regularly two hours after running them they are still scolding hot. Once I emerge from my soak feeling cleaner and fresher I restart writing now bordering on spent.
Later as The Simpsons prove a welcome distraction dinner happens and writing all but grinds to a halt.
Tonight I watch the greatest TV show I have seen in years as James May builds a 2/3 mile Scalextric track on the site of the old Brooklands racetrack. It definitely appeals to the inner child of the viewer as it is a genuinely exhilarating show.
In the end I run out the day with a sense of defeat. Even though I did manage to get a lot of writing done and avoid any kind of catastrophe the date seems to threaten writing wise I still failed to get anything new up online.
Eventually post 10PM I throw in the towel of my bad fortune day I turn in.