Monday, 28 December 2009

Monday 28 December 2009 – BOXING DAY 2

It is with a high level of disillusion that I enter into today.  After awaking just after 3AM and watching a Woody Allen documentary I re-enter into the day around 8.45AM under the illusion that I have just experienced a lazy lie in.

I am slow moving today, desiring some kind of rest that will recharge my batteries and help me get through the following two days with a high level of productivity so that by the time I return to work and enter the new year I will be facing it head on, full of steam and with some kind of ferocity that sadly seems and feels missing at this time.

Out of boredom I find myself scouring over Youtube looking at videos that could easily be described as porn by the easily offended and those with a more discerning eye.  It is weird how the website is happy to pull down old pop music videos for breach of copyright but leave these titillating and corrupting images up online.  Not that I am complaining.

My flat is chilly this morning, the weather has taken a distinct turn for the worse again and as more snow gets threatened for later in the week suddenly it is beginning to look more likely than the initial predictions.

I remain in bed where I pull out my Tom Waits book and read a few more pages.  It now feels like ages since I was last afforded the opportunity to actually read a book and as ever I feel I only read pages slowly as I continue to swear that I have some kind of mild form of dyslexia which coupled with my natural tendencies to distraction (a mild form of ADD too) means I don’t get very far with the book, much to my detriment.

There is a train of thought that suggests reading enhances an individuals writing skills and quite frankly reading back some of this drivel it sounds like something I could/would really benefit at this time.  It won’t happen by reading at this pace though.

Just after 9AM Mark texts to say that his phone is a “twat” and how he is only just now receiving text messages from Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  With this we hatch vague plans to meet up this afternoon.

The morning is spent for me cursing the participants of the meet up last night.  Some kind of minor persecution complex takes hold as I begin to feel sorry for myself for having no friends or social life this Christmas.  With this frame of mind I begin to feel betrayed and abandoned.  Such mentality never serves anybody well and probably explains why I don’t leave my bed until past midday today.

Happily Danny Baker is on Five Live all morning, which serves as a best possible Christmas comedown and reason to remain in bed.  Afterwards I spend some time reading my new Tom Waits book, anything is better than actually getting up at this time.

Eventually I get up and drink a can of Relentless in the hope of getting pep, which fortunately indeed happens.  With some gusto behind me I manage to get some more writing done as I finally attack my flat and give sorting it out a real crack.

All the while this is going on and I am doing my best with my apartment all that I can hear emitting from downstairs is some kind of muffled shouting.  I cannot quite work out what is going on or being said but none of it sounds good and much of it sounds drunk.  Suddenly I have shit neighbours it would seem.

In true self destructive fashion despite suddenly beginning to do a good job on my flat I get in touch with Mark with view to hitting town and meeting up at 3PM.  In the light of last night’s flagrant rejection it would seem I had best get dining on such scraps.

When we eventually head into town staggering the place is truly heaving.  I’m not really quite sure what people are after or finding because when I had a peak on Boxing Day proceedings appeared very limited indeed.  This is not good, this town feels like it is flagging.  I can just imagine the conversation from last night “Colchester is shit this”, “Colchester is shit that”.

Mark and I wind up in Costa where they appear to be doing their own version of an eggnog latte in the form of a vanilla latte.  It tastes good.  As we step through the door Mark reminds us of the woman from the summer that was breastfeeding here.  We could certainly do with her at this time.

As town begins to shut up shop for the day as we head back home it gets suggested that we stop for a couple of drinks in the Hospital Arms.  From here onwards we spend a strong afternoon of putting the world to right before we eventually call it a night and I finally head back to my parents in the hope of snagging some dinner.

Upon arrival as ever the dog is happy to see me but stepping through the door I sense some kind of tension between my parents.  As the atmosphere feels awkward it would appear that dad has turned into some kind of taxi service for the locals (their South African neighbour and now some dickhead ex-salaryman who now runs a cleaning company).  I agree with mum that dad is perhaps too accommodating but she really does go to town complaining about these people going off on one of her “people are just users” rants once more.  Such statements always serve to depress all and anyone within earshot.

Eventually after lots of their Christmas food I begin to feel sobered up and I head down where the night on BBC2 is dedicated to Not The Nine O’clock News.  The documentary is pretty interesting but they really do go to town and do a number on Chris Langham.  That guy reminds me so much of Mr Melchet, perhaps our local equivalent has kiddie porn hidden on his PC also.  It would not surprise me.

The documentary is kind of sad because it feels seeped in failure.  Also the sight of Mel Smith so visibly struggling to comment is very disheartening.

Beyond this it doesn’t take long to fall asleep.

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