Sunday 31 January 2010

Dream: my parents have season tickets to Ipswich Town again.  One day when mum cannot go to a game I head along instead of her and suddenly it is like twenty years ago when dad and I used to go together.  With this I suddenly see old friends from school who used to go there also (who I have ironically culled from Facebook recently) and things now begin to feel young again.  Before the last game of the season I find myself hanging out with somebody from school called Ben and we are late turning up to the game.  When we arrive outside the ground there is silence.  For a moment I wonder if the game is even going ahead but more likely I expect it is a minutes silence.  With this I question who has died.  I doubt it is a football person because these days those command a minute’s applause and celebration.  Once at the ground I pull out my iPhone to try and call mum to get in touch with dad to come down and hand me my ticket.  I get no answer and suddenly begin panicking at my inability to get into the ground now that I have arrived.  Thankfully dad heads down to the entrance and asks me if I still want to go in.  Just before heading up I have a quick piss in a bathroom that resembles some kind of boiler room.  With this I wake up, fearful that I have wet the bed.  Luckily I haven’t.

After the early hours insomnia and subsequent watching of the Tony Hancock docudrama Hancock And Joan (he has so not gay) and then listening to the first part of The Catcher In The Rye audiobook this morning I wake up just beyond 9.30AM.  Outside the sun is blazing but still my apartment is very chilly.

There is a genuine optimism attached to proceedings today.  After the fluff that was yesterday I am determined today to make up for being so lacklustre.  This is exactly what happened last weekend also, there is a worrying trend occurring here.

As I flip on the TV Andrew Murray is on BBC1 and losing.  I guess that means he is Scottish rather than British today then.

Harriet Harman is on Andrew Marr this morning even if Marr himself isn’t.  She reminds me of the friend’s mum you didn’t like at school and as a result you only went to their house after school when you had to.  She hasn’t talked about that website lately.

Inevitably The Big Questions arrives on TV.  Really, where on earth do they dig these people up from?  Danny Baker used to refer to these types of shows as “nuts and sluts” shows.  I really do not believe I encounter any people resembling these in any of my walks of life.  In a real world context nobody listens to these people.  Why do they dress all these people up as moderate types?  They’re fanatics without balls.  Today’s three topics ticks all the boxes of middle England: Muslims, paedophiles and Christianity.  Is there anybody in this audience that wasn’t abused as a child?

My arms still royally ache this morning but luckily it doesn’t impede my writing with the manner in which it damaged progress yesterday.  Still though it sees me typing through the pain barrier to get these words out.

Excitingly the Facebook Cull appears to be getting additional pushes this morning as comments come flying in via Facebook and the actual comments section of the blog.  I can’t help but think, feel and fear that my Day 59 entry will be the one that gets me into trouble (not least for it being repeated in its entirety on the actual 100 Days website itself).

Unable to do anything productive or of use I instead take the time to finally watch the first episodes of season 4 of 30 Rock.  They truly do not disappoint.

As per routine I head to the olds at around 3PM.  I sense one day burglars reading this may note this and choose this as the time to break into my flat and steal my belongings.  Damn, if only I had something of worth to take.  Actually the state that my flat is currently in it already looks ransacked so potentially if anybody was to come in that way they might improve the situation.

Arriving at the parents as ever I am greeted by the excited dog jumping up me trying to get to me to give me some kind of canine kiss.  I can never understand why he has this sudden outburst of affection as soon as I step through the door and then proceeds to act cool and frosty for the remainder of my visit.  It is so strange to note just how different Bobby is to Snowy.

On Sky this afternoon is Arsenal v Manchester United which sees United trouncing them 3-1 on their own patch (which used to be Highbury but is now some boring corporate christened enormodome of a monstrosity, not that I have been there).  The Nani goal in particular is a good one.

After this result everyone at home is happy with things seemingly going our way.  Beyond this I begin to channel hop and wind up watching Luton v Liverpool from 1986 on ESPN.  Football from the era now seems so strange and foreign to me.  For starters the pace looks so relaxed and errors more rife.  With the teams mostly having British names the players on view do not look half as skilful as today and when I see Jan Molby running through players with the ball it just looks laughable now considering how this would not be possible in the modern era of football.  This is a loss.

Eventually I head home in the hope of getting some writing done but upon arrival there is no fucking chance.  Already I find myself in the Sunday night stupor, already depressed about the prospect of work.

Tonight I finally pull out my DS and play FIFA 2010.  In my first game I play as Millwall against Crystal Palace who I eventually beat on penalties.  Afterwards I notice how late it now is (10.20PM) and suddenly I feel guilty about being up.

From here I head to bed where the South Bank Show is having some kind of awards ceremony.  Erm, when did Melvyn Bragg event all arts and culture?

I sleep.