Sunday 28 February 2010
Dream: for some reason I am hanging out with my American Friend at the NFT where they are doing a showing of the Big Lebowski. She hasn’t bothered to get me a ticket instead she is there with The Teeth and the thumbsucker from Catford. Obviously this niggles and annoys me but really should not surprise me. There is some kind of BYOB motif to proceedings and I bring along some kind of curried chicken bits on skewers. For some reason Pauly is also at the screening and I scam his spare ticket. Taking my seat I notice that my American Friend is sat in an aisle seat on the right hand section of the cinema and with this I take up the corresponding aisle seat on the row just to annoy her. Taking my perch I spot Pauly more central and a couple of rows in front of me but he doesn’t seem interested in acknowledging me. Beneath our seats tonight are supposedly some kind of heater/oven where we are supposed to be placing our BYOB and I promptly put my chicken in a plastic container down there. I begin to hear the shrieking voice of the American as I wait for my chicken to heat up. All the while I keep looking around expecting that any moment the real ticket holder of this seat is going to come along and make me move. It doesn’t happen and soon I find myself eating the barely lukewarm chicken as the seat cooker/oven gimmick fails to work. The Big Lebowski is a good movie.
I awaken wondering just what the fuck that dream was about. Obviously the appearance of my American Friend serves to upset me but why would she be appearing in one of my dreams now? Perhaps there is some kind Wayne Bridge blanking and cutting off John Terry reminder/connection there. Also the chicken motif, is my subconscious calling me “chicken” and accusing me of being afraid of certain things?
The time is 8.30AM when I emerge from slumber. For a lengthy period I attempt to claw back some sleep, some rest because I know this won’t be possible tomorrow.
Per routine I put on Andrew Marr and have this on in the background while managing to tear into writing. Today the writing is on!
All morning while I write all that can be heard is my neighbours repeatedly slamming the doors of our building, shaking the foundations with each gesture. I don’t think it is done out of anger, it is just them being heavy handed and inconsiderate, too pumped for people in their twenties. She (Caroline Geary) I believe is a professional trainer, perhaps she is working with steroids. At the same time downstairs beneath my flat all that can be heard is a man shouting like a crazy person. Annoyingly it is too muffled to make out but still loud enough to be a nuisance. I wonder sometimes what is with those two downstairs. I swear they are alcoholics, people having fallen on hard times and now reduced to living in my small apartment block. These flats aren’t big enough for people on their own (me), let alone a middle-aged couple having to live on top of each other. Sometimes I thank my lucky stars that I do not spend much time here, this flat (Bohemian Grove) resembles something of a halfway house for me. During the week I barely spend three waking hours a day in the building and coupled with sleep hours it barely makes for eleven hours a day in my crib (sometimes only six or seven when I stay out). I really should pay more attention to my surroundings.
Today I finally finish off the review for the new Sone Institute album, which proves particularly difficult considering my promo copy of the album has long since disappeared into the Bermuda Triangle that is my flat. I listen to the MP3s of the record and feel that I have only managed to get half of the story. Typically after finishing the review I then find my CD copy of it. Oh well.
Why have I got the theme music from The Professionals running through my head this morning?
Taking a break from writing I take the time to watch a great episode of 30 Rock, the Christmas episode from a few weeks ago. In the episode it features their version of Facebook “Youface”. This helps inspire me today as I continue to labour over my toughest entries on the Facebook Cull.
Soon 3PM arrives and with it the routine of Sunday. This afternoon is the Carling Cup Final, that pointless competition that really should have been put out of its misery as soon as clubs started fielding reserve line-ups. And this is coming from a person that once shed tears over the Simod Cup a long long time ago. Today’s final is Aston Villa v Manchester United. No matter how hard these premier league clubs try to get knocked out at an early stage the gulf between them and the lower leagues is ultimately just too much for the football league to contend with.
I’m on the drag leaving today and by the time I am getting into my car surprisingly Aston Villa are already winning. As I arrive at my parents’ place I find myself having to deal with the latest free car park in Colchester that is Balkerne Heights and by the time I find a place, head inside and get to watch any of the game Michael Owen has since equalised.
Just before halftime Owen pulls up injured in a manner that I have seen from him many times before. In his place on comes Wayne Rooney who once more tears the game apart, scoring the eventual winner from another headed goal. I then find myself even more impressed with his effort/attempt that slams off the post. In the end Man Utd win 2-1 in a pointless final which represents something of a hollow victory.
Back in the studio one of the guests is Dwight Yorke who appears to be acting like Sidney Poitier. Is this the right reference point?
Elsewhere television further serves to continually confuse me with the current Natwest advertisement. In it there is a bloke who six months ago was taking out a loan to buy an engagement ring or sports car based on the response from his girlfriend. Now as Natwest TV catches up with him it seems he bought neither. Surely this is an act of fraud as the loan was taken out under false pretence. What kind of message is this?
After the game I find myself channel surfing Sky in the vain hope of finding an episode of The Simpsons. No such luck, its just no longer lives in the 6PM slot anymore. Instead as a compromise we watch Harry Hill and I think my highlight of the series occurs in an old guy’s super animated reaction to an expensive spoon on Antiques Roadshow.
Eventually I head home in the hope of doing some writing but soon before I know it it is time for the Winter Olympics and the ice hockey final. Knowing a couple of Canadian people now I almost have the bug for hockey. Tonight I feel like a McKenzie brother.
In the end it is an exciting game even though I have no idea who any of the players are. Canada scores first and then soon afterwards adds a second as I attempt to rejoice with any Canadian people/friends I can find online.
Later America inevitably pulls one back as they begin to pull back into the game and then with only seconds remaining they finally equalise taking the game into overtime. At this point the Yanks (the septics) quite frankly look far stronger than their counterparts but after the break as overtime begins once more Canada are all over America again and eventually the score a sudden death winner to end the final 3-2. Satisfaction guaranteed.
From here I fall asleep with the closing ceremony of the Winter Olympics booming from inside my TV.