Sunday 14 March 2010 –
MOTHERS DAY
Dream: I find myself
stepping into a pub where I spot my friend Chris from Nottingham. As I head towards him to say “hello” I spot
he is with all his old band members in Reynolds (who we put out a
couple of records by on Gringo
Records). Recently as part of my Facebook Cull I deleted three of
ex-members of the band and when really I should be feeling sheepish in
approaching these guys I burst over with gusto. As I sit down I begin to wonder if they guys know about the
culling, especially when they are unsurprisingly frosty with me (it has been
years since I have seen them in person anyway). Why the fuck am I having this dream at this time?
Eventually I awaken
uncomfortably as the TV makes an
annoyingly squealing noise from some kids TV show. Yup, I fell asleep again last
night with my TV on. It’s like some
kind of lullaby I require these days in order to get to sleep (although quite
frankly this is a load of old bollocks too).
As I check the time it is 6.30AM.
6.30AM on a Sunday morning, I truly have body clock sickness. What on earth can I do at an hour such as
this on a Sunday?
In the end I catch up
on the news via BBC24 which includes the Odd Box feature
with Dominic Byrne. Here is a person I really take exception to
because whenever I hear him on the Chris Moyles show he
truly annoys me being the worst Yes Man on that show. Here is a person that is supposed to be a legitimate news person
but he is just too trivial and obliging on that show, sappy and wet devoid of
any real opinion or appreciation of anything with intellect. It’s not good.
From here as the MOTD
repeat knocks the news out of the way I get up and plump for watching a couple
of Jonathan Ross’s
Asian documentaries (Japanorama
and Asian
Invasion). They give me a new found
enthusiasm for the weird and exciting, something that is much needed today at
this time.
As 9AM arrives I do
the routine thing of intending to watch Andrew
Marr but also as per usual I find myself drifting off. After yesterday’s bout of laziness I really
have to write
today, I cannot afford to waste this time and these weekends.
Unsurprisingly I wind
up peaking at Something For
The Weekend and the dead eye expression of Louise Redknapp. Despite this though thankfully I put in a
good session without succumbing to the distraction.
Sadly time is short
today as with it being Mother’s
Day I find myself having to do the good son thing and head over to my
parents place for 1PM which leaves me with just a couple of hours to squeeze
some writing into.
As 1PM nears and looms
I leave for lunch with my parents.
Obviously I leave late and find myself rushing against the clock. While I storm down Butt Road I
spot the weird couple from the train walking along pushing a buggy. They have procreated? Those miserable specimens? That poor child, it must be the spawn of
Satan himself. Truly these two do look
like a younger version of the Satanic couple from Ghost World. This world never ceases to confuse or baffle
me.
Having failed to buy a
gift for Mother’s Day (it is requested that I pay for the buffet dinner) I try
to make amends by heading to Maplin to
buy the cassette to USB thing that mum asked for at Christmas. Unfortunately when I get there they are out
of stock. I am a bad son.
From here I head
towards Balkerne Heights with
my tail between my legs and as I pull into the complex I almost plough through
a woman in a burkha. Those things are
fucking dangerous; you poor ladies aren’t exactly visible from a distance.
When I finally arrive
at my parents place it is just after 1PM where they are already ready to head
out for lunch. Unsurprisingly though
the dog goes crazy for me and while he runs around not exactly showing
enthusiasm for being put into his pen the old man loses his rag with us and
heads off to the restaurant on his own in a huff.
Eventually mum and I
catch up with him and we stroll into the usual House Of China for a Chinese
buffet. Classy. One day we might actually go to a restaurant
for an occasion.
Today the place seems
busier than usual and with it comes the expected pile up at the troughs. I struggle with Chinese food these days,
unable to stock up and eat plate after plate of the stuff. I’m not exactly sure what happened to me but
I do feel it is a physical thing rather than a mental thing. Also perhaps it is due to this food not
necessarily being very good. Maybe my
palate has improved to the point it has become snobby towards this. All in all it is quite ironic how I am no
longer able to stomach buffets considering how large it has become.
My parents concern me
more with each passing week now.
Together they tell me how dad fell over in town on Thursday
and laugh it off in the process. Then
dad tells me how he saw an apparition in his bedroom the other night. I await a punch line by it doesn’t come.
In addition to all his
joviality they are also becoming more racist with age which coupled with their
failing and diminishing hearing just means their comments are that much louder
and cringing. Naughtily beyond the
embarrassment factor I find it funny, which I guess ultimately makes me as bad
as them (especially considering just 15 minutes earlier I almost ran over a
lady in a burkha). My parents are
really racist though they’re just of a different era that haven’t exactly spent
their lives in a multicultural environment.
For them its just name-calling in the same way you take the mick out of
a person for being ginger or fat. As
the country around us begins to deteriorate due to various factors, reasons and
elements (of which you sense mainly greed) unfortunately the increase and
arrival of people of a different origin/persuasion is the most visible change
in the landscape and thus the easiest to blame.
Eventually we finish
up our food and head back just as a heavy shower kicks off, seemingly the first
of a relatively OK day.
When we get home
(Balkerne Heights) Manchester
United are already in the process of beating Fulham
3-0. Such is life.
The second game of the
afternoon is Sunderland
v Manchester
City which sees Sunderland taking a surprise lead in the 9th
minute which lasts all the way until injury time when Manchester City scrape an
equalizer in the dying moments through a spectacular effort from Adam Johnson
(no, me neither) and prevents them from completely choking even though by
rights they should have suffered a loss because it what they deserve. This jumped up football team is not a big
four club by any stretch of the imagination.
From here I linger
around my parents’ place catching the Harry Hill repeat
and snagging some dinner in the process before heading home to my Sunday
evening.
As I step through our
building door I hear a “hello” and it is my neighbour the nuisance
repairing her bike on our landing.
That’ll be more grease on our carpet I guess then. I get into a conversation that I don’t want
to be having with somebody I don’t like.
Why does accepted social convention not allow us to tell people who
deserve it to “fuck off”?
Once away from her
Sunday evening occurs without fanfare but with the usual sense of blue.
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