Friday, 26 March 2010

Friday 26 March 2010

Friday 26 March 2010

Today immediately begins better than yesterday.  For starters the sun is out, already glowing when I awaken at 6.48AM on my day off.

As ever with a day off I spend the first part of the morning laying in bed watching Channel Four and cheap American sitcoms being repeated for the Nth time with view to filling schedules.  I can’t help but wonder what type of person actually sits down and watches these daily, viewing them as part of their schedule.  Why are they on TV now?  I know for sure Channel Four can’t afford or be bothered to produce news or light entertainment scheduling anymore but to show these instead does confuse me slightly.

It begins with Everybody Loves Raymond then onto Frasier (actually a programme that still oozes quality) before ending with Will & Grace.

I feel a sense of pressure today, one to make up for the waste that was yesterday.  Yesterday was all about slumber and as a result the day trickled through my fingers and the time spent at home instead of work actually came to nothing.

Once out of bed my day begins with a phonecall from work.  It is actually a missed call but there is a voicemail attached.  With reluctance I call in and it is just my boss looking for some wage sheets from last month that I have failed to file.  I tell him where (I think) they are and with it I prompt an irksome rummage from him through a pile of papers I sense he is going to uncover lots of stuff in that he shouldn’t.  This is not a good start.

Eventually I begin the day and endeavour to redeem myself.  With the morning remaining sunny ironically the idea of heading to Wales weekend suddenly begins to seem/feel appealing again and as a result now represents something of a missed/lost opportunity.

A certain buzz has followed through from last night where the Richard Herring show stormed and meeting him at the close of proceedings was a brief but genuine thrill.  For a person that appears standoffish in those fleeting minutes he was a lot more friendlier than I had given him credit for.

In order to discover some life and energy today I make a point of heading out to Asda early on.  Yesterday I can’t help but feel proceedings were slightly blighted by the lack of fizzy caffeine fodder, my damaging fuel for helping the writing flow.

As I drive to the store and head down Butt Road while passing my old employer I see a shorthaired guy emerging from Chernobyl that looks like a mini version of Jock.  I guess that’s what they like.  Stevo has never mentioned this guy.  He doesn’t look like fun.

Walking into Asda on a Friday morning is an experience away from my usual Saturday morning routine.  I have to concede there are more yummy mummies.  What am I going to do though?

From here I grab a basket and bag up in usual fashion.  When scouring through the cheap DVDs I come across a copy of The Burbs that I do NOT buy.  I can’t help but think I will be experiencing nightsweats and a panicked return visit in the future over this decision.

As food shopping proper begins I keep up with my best intentions of reinvention and rejuvenation and buy more fruit.  Here’s genuinely hoping that this shit sorts me out.  As ever I find myself tempted to buy cocktail sausages but as I pass them there is a person in the way meaning that I cannot reach them without manners.  I take this as a sign to negate from buying them.  From here I stroll out the remainder of the journey buying my caffeine drink, buying green tea, buying Frijj and also buying Bombay Mix in an effort ween myself of the Wasabi Mix.  Avoiding the cereals (I have lots already) when I reach the booze I find myself genuinely agonising over whether to buy any or not.  As I stand staring into the alcoholic abyss some craggy middle aged skank walks past making her decisions.  She has alcoholic written all over her along with the word unappealing.  Despite this I plump for a bottle of Jagermeister, sometimes it serves me well.

When I get home I actually manage to get more into writing today, producing on a level that I was hoping for from yesterday.  Soon lunchtime arrives and with it I am spoilt for choice with so much new stuff freshly purchased.

I genuinely miss London on my days off, pining for the streets and the things I could be doing there on a day freed from work.

On Channel Four in the early afternoon is Warlords Of Atlantis, a Doug McClure joint.  The listings actually state that The Time Machine is supposed to be on but in some ways this is a better way to indulge wasting part of my afternoon.  In tow following Doug McClure is an almost unrecognisable John Ratzenberger.  He actually did something other than Cheers?

In addition to this I also discover The Million Pound Note on Film4 which is a truly underrated and classic movie.  Not that I have time to watch it today.

As usual with 3PM comes a break to listen to Danny Baker.  Today he is naming his new Facebook group in an effort to move on from Star Garter.  As he plays around it sounds as if he is sending Baylen Leonard into despair.  It’s all a tease and very funny radio.

Also as part of the show is a call out for experiences of being a failed writer and like a true sadist I jump to respond, quickly firing off a message to their Margaret Rutherford email address.

To my surprise and pleasure he begins reading my email out which basically resembles the spiel I wrote as the book description for the Asking For Trouble website.  It is all very wordy and soon he finds himself getting tongue tied before apologising and abandoning the reading.  I have to say hearing him read the description it all sounds like the heaviest, darkest, most humourless piece of writing.  For a moment I consider sending him a copy but I come to the conclusion that might not be a good thing.

After the show I briefly resume writing before breaking for two episodes of The Simpsons.  This will always be the most comforting of television programmes, as long as its on the air somewhere everything will be all right.

This evening I get quite the revelation from an old school friend regarding some girl we all used to know in our Gringo Records circle/scene.  Suddenly it’s a scarily smaller world.

Out of boredom I watch the Shane MacGowan documentary that has been sitting on my PC for literally years now.  The interest now comes from seeing the Marcia Farquhar show the other Saturday and I watch it morbidly half wondering if she will pop up in it.  She doesn’t but various other names I used to encounter at Notting Hill do.  It is especially interesting to put a face to the name Joey Cashman after hearing so many stories from Danny Devito about him over the years.  Looking at the guy, I can almost believe them.

From here my Friday night proves a dead end.  When did Friday night TV become so fucking bad?  What happened to the sitcoms they used to put on to prevent single people getting sad and depressed?

In the end I plump for my DVD of The Damned United, which I fall asleep within ten minutes of.

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