Thursday 4 February 2010
This morning I wake up early again and with a headache. For some reason I was dreaming of Ndubz through the night. Why? Maybe with all this recent bullying stuff they are beginning to take on a new level resonation with me.
When the alarm eventually buzzes as usual the first thing I do is put on the TV and watch the news with the GMTV version of events (at this hour I like to keep things lite). Finally when I get up I pass my front door to notice a Play.com package hanging from the letterbox. When I open it it is the Blades Of Glory DVD I ordered in the sale. I guess that was what all the knocking was about last night after all.
I leave early with view to boarding the 6.48AM train, getting into London quicker than usual and getting a head start on work. I doubt anyone senior realises that I am off tomorrow and this is why I am headed into work so prematurely this morning. On that note though a day off feels pretty essential right now if only to sort out my PC and set up my new DVD player.
As I leave my flat the rubbish is still on the stairs and landing, which serves to infuriate me no end. I have been in this flat since 2001 and for almost nine years I have had no problem with my neighbours until now with this dirty cunt that has moved in next door. Truly what on earth is her mentality? What part of her tiny little insect mind figures it is socially acceptable to make such a fucking mess of the communal area? Its not that this act on its own is necessary all that bad it is just that it is the latest in a growing line of annoyances caused by her hand. The list goes on: the bike being in the way, the marks on the side of the walls from her fucking bike, the smell from her leaving her rubbish bag out, the way she slams her door, the continuous line of male visitors, the cheek from one of said visitors knocking on my door and asking me for a bottle opener. Please please will somebody sort her the fuck out.
Heading to work I purposely leave my flashdrive at home today, I need to remove the potential distraction from proceedings if I am to get the control review completed to a sufficient level.
In the end I manage to catch the earlier train easily and with it I decide to listen to the James Ellroy appearance on Desert Island Discs. This guy’s words are amazing and it only serves to compound my disappointment from his performance back in November at the Southbank.
Early into the journey the guy sat opposite me asks if he can have my discarded copy of The Metro. I respond “sure, go for it” and later stare in shock when he is still reading the newspaper forty minutes later. I barely takes me two minutes a day to flick through the nothing tome of news.
Elsewhere on the train a woman sleeps with her mouth wide open. It looks like she is giving an invisible blowjob. Such thoughts and comments have got me into trouble before, I’ll never learn.
By 8.15AM I am wheeling my way to St Johns Wood, this is one of the earliest yet. Typically when I arrive at the restaurant at 8.30AM it is all locked up and alarmed with me still having been given my alarm fob back meaning that I can’t get into the building. Brownnosing really doesn’t suit me.
At this point I begin to feel like crying. Why the fuck do I bother when nobody plays ball with me and nobody meets me halfway. Such is life, I’ll live.
For a while I consider just entering, setting off the alarms and getting somebody in trouble in the process. More sensibly though I think better of doing this and instead I phone my boss just to confirm that I am correct about the alarms (and display my eagerness).
Eventually the angry boss turns and lets me in asking me where my alarm fob is. When I explain that I haven’t been handed it back yet despite asking a couple of times I get the impression that he wants to blame and shame somebody for this but instead he is only able to exact a mild grumble. After this though all is gravy.
Once at my desk I quickly tear into work in the hope of getting a head start on the further grilling that is inevitably bound to come in from the consultant when he arrives.
Annoyingly the consultant comes in early again, even ahead of my boss and The Girl. With this the Filipino pulls a face at me realising the hassle that this is going to cause me. By this time unsurprisingly I haven’t really made much headway on the work and subsequently any incoming queries prove frustrating.
Luckily for me he gets suckered into other dealings with my bosses, which lends me some breathing space with which to make progress on work.
After a tough morning by lunchtime time things are beginning to look better and clearer with almost an end in sight on my targets for today.
Beyond this the afternoon pans out somewhat distracted and less productive. Thankfully the big meeting lasts all afternoon meaning that I am fortunately not pressured.
Eventually 5.30PM arrives and tactically we all sneak out. From here I get the tube down to Green Park and head straight/direct to Leicester Square. On the way once more I stop off for a Starbucks liquid dinner.
When I finally arrive at the Prince Charles Cinema some kind of premiere is occurring. With people swarming around a little red carpet, the paps are out in force and I join in with the crowd in an effort to spot any famous people. As I stretch on my tiptoes I spot a bald guy from daytime TV followed by a couple of pretty boys who are either brothers or lovers. I guess they must be from either a soap or reality shows. It turns out that the premiere is for the new Terry Gilliam movie The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus which features amongst other people Tom Waits. I don’t think Tom Waits is going to be amongst this lot.
Finally I decide to try and get into the cinema to watch the new Ian Dury biopic SEX AND DRUGS AND ROCK AND ROLL and when I step up to the bespoke security woman and point at the small screen and say “the Ian Dury film” I get in comfortably easy. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard from here to gatecrash the premiere. Sadly I am not that mischievous by nature.
When I take my seat in the cinema it is actually really busy, much more than usual. Thankfully though when I take my seat my view remains exceptional.
Today I have the new(ish) Bombay Bicycle Club song “Evening / Morning” in my head and I actually find myself listening to it in the cinema just so that the song remains in my head.
Eventually the movie begins to start up and when it does so there are no adverts ahead of the film that prompts a positive gasp from the audience and sarcastically impressed comments.
SEX AND DRUGS AND ROCK AND ROLL turns out to be an OK film. Dare I say that I found a bit too stylistic and ultimately the truth is that I wanted to like and enjoy the movie a lot more than I did. As with all biopics it’s all hyperbolic and at times feels a bit heavy and unnecessary in gets its story across.
Gripes aside Ian Dury makes for fascinating subject matter. I’m not so sure that The Blockheads were ever as interesting as this but the songs remain sounding amazing so with that in mind you are happy to be taken in my the visuals and the tale.
Andy Serkis is solid in the lead role and even though his role is small Ray Winstone as ever is tremendous, doing an astounding turn as Dury’s father and providing a true moment of pathos when Ian Dury eventually visits his bedsit/flat after his passing. Generally though everyone involved puts in a good performance, even the little kid who could have turned out to be a much worse arsehole.
Ultimately there is an empowering sense/feel to the movie as the “raspberry” comes away scoring many victories against the odds and elements, not least for often being his own worst enemy during the course.
Afterwards we all get spewed out onto Thursday night in Leicester Square where Chinatown buzzes close by and Lisle Street prepares for Chinese New Year with so many lanterns that make it look one of the most beautiful locations anywhere to be had (on earth). For what is in essence a novelty street or two there is so much colour attached to this place.
Eventually after a swift tube ride back to Liverpool Street I manage to hop aboard the weird 9PM Lowestoft train where unfortunately I find myself having to stand for the whole journey.
Upon arriving back into Colchester I charge over to Asda where I purchase provisions for my day off work tomorrow, stocking up on fuel that will hopefully facilitate the writing process.
When I finally get back to Bohemian Grove I am depressed to see that there is now a dumped bin bag on the landing in addition to the discarded wasabi sachet and putrid yoghurt lid. My neighbour is a slob.
From here I endeavour to write into the night but soon I just feel deflated so instead I go to bed without setting my alarm clock. This is freedom for me.