Tuesday 23 March 2010
Dream: I am wandering around and spot an Asian girl wearing a pair of the brown Airwalk shoes that I have and loved but which quickly fell apart. Surely this is enough in common between us for me to approach her?
Today is a bright morning, the kind that rejuvenates the soul and adds a fresh texture to any existence. I decide to eat a couple of bananas instead of cereal for breakfast. These are the best intentions.
As I leave the flat and approach my car I am faced with the surprise of having to deal with my windscreen being slightly frosty/frozen. How against this sun has happened? This goes against form but I don’t mind.
The drive to the station turns out to be a frustrating one as I get stuck behind a slow slow red car. What is it about red cars that is just so infuriating?
Upon arrival at the station soon I find myself standing on the platform contemplating change and the prospects that come with. It is nice to be boarding the train in sunlight now especially at a time when the air feels so fresh and the climate is perfect.
During the journey today I discover that a book has been written about how childhood experiences and lifestyle influence and develop the future professions/vocations of people and their eventual careers. The book has been written by a Dennis Friedman and when writing of accountants it describes such individuals as being “in perpetual search for reassurance and balance.” I can see that. I can also see description in the manner in which I have sex.
Nearing the end of the journey the train beaches outside of Liverpool Street while it waits for a platform to pull into. How do these things happen?
Once the train pulls into the station we all stand up to get off and as I attempt chivalry and allow a girl to get off before me just as the moment of gesture arrives she says to me “after you.” Why is the world seemingly intent on undermining and demasculating (emasculating) me?
The time is 8.06AM as I find myself crossing the station towards the tube platform. Thankfully I catch a break when I reach the platform with a Watford train pulling up. At this point I spot Bellalike, she is like part of the furniture now. From here thankfully I step into work smoothly without any further drama on the trains.
Today is about pulling together the February accounts which went relatively well yesterday. For only a couple of days work this is very quick progress for what is in essence a months work.
Early on I request that I can duck out early tonight and the response from the boss is in the affirmative. Result.
From here the morning plays out smoothly as I appear to be feeling at home in my falling apart desk chair now. In a way I am fucking shocked that it hasn’t collapsed by now but also relieved it is still standing and even enjoying the swinging fairground motion of the loose seat. Also the fact that it appears to be annoying The Girl is office gold to me.
Just before 11AM the teachers from the Ndubz school have a fag break by our car park and once again I spot the grubby honey. My minor obsession for this person has now reached the stage that my work colleagues are accusing me of perving.
For lunch I go for the sausage, beans and mash option.
The afternoon turns into a hectic one as the boss begins to take interest in the prepayments at a late stage. Until this point it was all going swimmingly but now with him in court tomorrow I guess there is now urgency to his involvement/review. Slowly we get there with the review but half the time I have my eye on the clock/time as I need to be out slightly early tonight in order to get to the Barbican for the Australian Film Festival on time.
Eventually I get out just after 5.15PM with a sense of tension and panic in the air. Typically being in a rush once more this evening public transport is not my friend.
When I finally emerge at Barbican station my phone immediately begins ringing and it’s Australian Mark asking me where I am as he is already there. Profusely I make my apologies as I promptly step up a gear and stomp towards the building.
After a little lost moment we finally meet up before becoming slightly confused by the set up and various entrances of the Barbican building. Who puts a cinema in an area called The Pit?
In the end typically there was no need for all the stress as we get to our seats easily before the beginning of the movie.
The movie we are watching tonight is WE’RE LIVIN’ ON DOG FOOD which is a documentary about the late seventies/early eighties punk scene in Melbourne which laid the scene for the movie Dogs In Space several years later. Later on this evening they will be showing Dogs In Space afterwards which I have never seen but to be honest having Michael Hutchence in it doesn’t necessarily serve as a strong recommendation for me.
In the end it is a great documentary featuring lots of bands I have never heard of but now I want to investigate (Primitive Calculators being the most exciting). Of the people being interviewed Rowland S Howard is the only person I recognise and you can’t help but feel sad as he looks so frail knowing that he is no longer with us now.
Inevitably the movie reaches the drug section sharing experiences and stories from within the scene and as the descriptions become more gruesome suddenly the girl sat in front us begins shouting “help! He’s passed out!” and with this everyone gasps and a few spring into action as a bald do-gooder leaps to their aid.
With the drama the lights come on and the move gets shut down (in that order) as a medic gets summoned. Soon the guy comes around as he awakens from his disco nap and it becomes apparent he had fallen asleep. With a gang of concerned people around him he gets up, apologises to the audience and exits with his tail between his legs.
For a moment I have to sadly admit that I found the whole moment very exciting. I had never seen anybody die before and for a moment this looked like I might be about to pop my cherry.
Soon the movie resumes, playing out with the inevitable decline and passing of the scene until its eventual reinvention in the Dogs In Space movie.
Throughout the movie Nick Cave gets repeatedly ragged on while for some reason Michael Hutchence gets held in true reverence. As the footage shows him posing out for/to the camera the next moment the women he fucked are saying what a sensitive soul he was and how he was swimming in charisma. Really?
Eventually the movie ends on what feels like a downer, of old people finishing off reminiscing about better days and better times. There is a sad moment during the credits where Rowland S. Howard is featured at his most fragile.
Afterwards Mark and I grab a drink and seem to discuss all things music and literary (at our respective levels). I am conscious not to stay out too late as he has kids to go home and see but we rack up a good hour of conversation, sorting out the world in the process.
Heading home I wind up on a decent train at a decent hour after a decent night out for once.