Saturday 15 August 2009
Dream: I move into a house share into a property I do not recognise. It is ok although my room is small and a bit grey. The living space however is large and ample and generally the place is homely and comfortable. The Girl from work turns up and it becomes apparent that I am renting the spare room from her. Whether this works out is to be seen but initially we get on fine just like/how we do at work. The third housemate turns up and its some girl, a bit prude, that reminds me of the one from ATP. In other words, cold and fake. The Girl’s boyfriend turns up and he seems only semi OK with the idea but he gets convinced that it is OK. This is the third time I have met him and he has changed yet again. Afterwards I find myself at Somerset House at an outdoors movie event. I am with my family and my old uncle and aunt we all used to holiday with when I was younger. The movie showing is E.T. and it is a real regression back to my youth. While my dad, uncle and aunt potter at the entrance buying food mum sets out our picnic blanket on her own only to have some snotty bitch girls spread their legs to take up what mum had intended as our space. Mum is trying her best but she just does not understand the procedures and conventions at these things and how the modern generation (my generation) acts. Mum however still thinks that despite the girls now taking up more of our allotted space she will be able to squeeze all five of us into the spot. It’s a naivety that comes from age and not understanding the modern world. I feel bad and angry about this and take it out on the girls. Somehow from somewhere I suddenly have a baseball bat in my hand and I begin hitting the girl’s leg with it, not too hard but hard enough. We open a nasty dialogue and I am obviously deemed to be the person in the wrong. Eventually though they get their way and we move and as we do I pat the girl in the face a couple of times with the baseball so that she feels it which garners the response “that’s a bit excessive isn’t it.” I don’t know, is it? I wind up ditching my family to sit on a table at the side of the screen. The opening movie shows and its some classic family slop, forgive me for not remembering what it is. On the table the random family is upper middle class and having a feast and I get welcomed into the fold of sampling/eating their food. I put on the manners and make a success of things. After the movie I head off to find my family again. I find Dad who points us towards mum who has set up the blanket right at the front of the stage meaning that we will have to creek our necks up almost vertically to see the movie. By now they have ditched my aunt and uncle. Again I rant about this and feel like a cunt afterwards. We move to any area in the middle where there is plenty of space, something I just know about from experience of these events when unfortunately it is taken as me acting as if I know it all. The dream ends depressingly.
As a result of the dream I wake up feeling deflated today. Unsure of the time I fear I have gone past 9AM but actually it is barely 8AM. All in all however I still feel exhausted and pretty miserable.
Bored I head to Asda and do the shopping thing. With boring predictability I see The Crab, buy absolutely toss in the form of food and worryingly when I come to pay at the checkout I find myself again forgetting my pin number. After two failed attempts the game is almost over but thankfully I have the number written down somewhere.
Terrifyingly off the back of my dream when I check the TV listings I see E.T. is on ITV2 this afternoon.
I spend the morning doing some writing and procrastinating about heading up to Ross’s this evening. Eventually however (while I am listening to the new Shonen Knife CD) he sends me a text message with directions.
Eventually I leave Colchester around 3.45PM and head up the A14 towards Cambridgeshire. It has been a while since I have driven up this road and as ever it brings out the worst in me but also it is a nice drive and opportunity to rip loose and give the Focus and run out. I experiment with illegal speeds as I lay claim as king of the road on a gorgeously sunny day.
The drive is OK. The only annoyance turns out to be when some poodling woman fucks me about as I change from the A12 to the A14. After cutting me up seemingly in a gesture to slow me down as I pass her I see the passenger (her husband I guess) sarcastically applaud my driving. This makes me so mad.
The journey feels longer than my last visit to March as I forget to take a detour through the sticks this year. It is 5.45PM and the most beautiful evening as I arrive into Ross’s hometown. Under this natural lighting it looks great today.
Ross lives at the address West End. This turns out to be a winding road along the river containing cosy homes and sweet cottages. I drive down the “road” for a short while but soon find my faced with the reality that it is more of a path. As I find a place to park up and look for his place on foot the greenage of the area floors me and the walk to his crib reminds me of places I spent my youth.
After a lengthy walk I find his flat situated in a huge house so perfectly situated. Being that I have parked about ten minutes walk away I go collect my car and park closer. Once back at his place it turns out that I am first to arrive. Unfortunately I’m not much fun with it, slightly zonked by the combination of the drive and general slow pace of an ideal summer day.
His place is amazing. Notch up yet another one of my friends with a nicer and bigger place than my own, one that has more rooms and generally possesses more of an adult and mature air to it. As ever this serves as a timely notice that I need to do something about/with my own place and life.
As we sit mumbling we begin drinking but I begin to suspect I won’t be getting drunk today. These days I can usually tell how things will go by my state of mind at the beginning of proceedings.
Eventually Tom and his brother arrive and things liven up. With them they bring amazing gifts that make my Luke Haines book look like a piece of cheese. Amongst the gifts is Love Thy Neighbour DVD, a book about conspiracy theories and a Boney M vinyl. Amazing. Quite frankly these are the things that made this country once great.
As things pick up Tom begins telling us about various things Liverpool that include this weird character called Purple Aki. The guy sounds too fucked up to be true but as I interrogate the internets it turns out everything Tom is saying/telling is true.
Soon Chris (Summerlin) turns up and things get swinging. Its actually pretty nice to see him again, for all the crappy stories I hear about him face to face we never exchange a cross word.
Gradually as more drinks get sunk the tunes get louder and better. In what would have felt unthinkable years ago tonight Ross plays copious amounts of R Kelly while we all appear to interpretative dancing to “Ignition.”
The tunes come via Spotify and this now appears how you spin tunes at parties. When I eventually get my opportunity to grab some DJ Gram action I wheel classic rock/rap crossovers such as Obie Trice “Wanna Know” and Time Zone “World Destruction.” My choices however prove not too popular as when I realise I have cleared the room I saunter outside to find everyone chatting in the doorway.
Around 10PM we head into March and welcome to the jungle. I have been told utter horror stories about the nightlife of this place so totally suckered in I find myself sporting trepidation at what might be found on the streets of this backwater town when steaming on alcohol.
We enter a pub called The Acres where a duo are singing the latest in rock pop covers. As we step in I feel we get evil looks from the act but I just wave in a gesture of peace and warmth.
The warm feel of the season maintains and as we step outside into the beer garden it all resembles the best of times in pleasantly tranquil settings. Spoke too soon.
As I look in the distance of the beer garden a few voices get raised and then a little shoving occurs and then suddenly the younger guy whips off his shirt in a gesture of pub war. Its go time. One of them stumbles to the ground as voices get raised and a third person endeavours to come between the ruck and split them up. This is good stuff.
Inevitably they both get lead out of the pub at which we turn around to see them on the other side of the railings we are sat near trying to pound shit out of each other. In reality they are too pissed to connect and suddenly it becomes one hell of a shoving and slapping match and the few times any swings make contact it is the sound of slapping ham.
The fight lasts longer than the one in They Live as the aggression never really manifests itself beyond a lot of snarling. For the longest of periods they wind up on the ground on top of each other which looks more like they are fucking than fighting. I feel totally gutted when I am unable to get a decent photo of proceedings although those in our group with better equipment get video and decent pictures. Fiona even takes shots using a flash with terrifies me at the prospect of riling the wrestlers towards our direction.
It proves to be the highlight of our night. The guys from March had promised me this kind of drama but I don’t think they believed they would ever be able to serve up anything this good.
We move tables to get closer to the speakers as Ross fills the jukebox with coins in exchange for grunge hits. While we sit discussing all and sundry some drunk girl called Julie comes over and sits with us. She tells me that she recognises me from somewhere but I figure she just thinks that I am James Corden. Still, she is insistent.
Off her fucking nut this Julie girl is actually quite likeable even if it is plainly obvious that she is a sort. It turns out that she from Essex as well (with hindsight it was there in her accent) and as she tells the guy that she was with to “fuck off” and repeatedly refers to him as a “wanker” suddenly I begin to feel a bit concerned that we might be the next people to get in a small town fight.
Eventually she fucks off back to her other chav friends before we are slowly manoeuvred out of the beer garden and into the pub as the place slowly begins to shut up for the night.
We leave at 1AM rolling out onto the greenery of March. There is no hint of a chill in the air instead there is still plenty of good intention in the air. Talk is expressed of heading back into town to get a “dirty burger” which for a strong moment I think is the name of the best fast food joint March has to offer. In the end though with a lengthy walk ahead of us and the desire to avoid obnoxious drunk locals the promise of pizza back at the crib is the best we have on offer.
It proves to be a lengthy walk back to Ross’ as a spot of Michael Jackson tree climbing proves irresistible to the others. As we cross the bridge at the river I suffer a near heart attack as Tom decides to climb on the outside of the structure. In the end he survives though, he doesn’t fall in, he doesn’t die.
Arrival back at the house is to the winning combination of the promised pizza and sound bombing to pop hits on Youtube. As the front room begins to double as a dance floor I begin to wonder if the party ever ends in Cambridgeshire.
With the hours getting early eventually all proceedings come to an end and sofa beds get wheeled out. On Last FM Tom sets up some kind of playlist that plays out while we pass out and when I reawaken an hour or two later the music is still playing out. Unable to find the off button I just turn the volume down to zero and fall back to sleep. This is the modern way of partying.
Dream: I move into a house share into a property I do not recognise. It is ok although my room is small and a bit grey. The living space however is large and ample and generally the place is homely and comfortable. The Girl from work turns up and it becomes apparent that I am renting the spare room from her. Whether this works out is to be seen but initially we get on fine just like/how we do at work. The third housemate turns up and its some girl, a bit prude, that reminds me of the one from ATP. In other words, cold and fake. The Girl’s boyfriend turns up and he seems only semi OK with the idea but he gets convinced that it is OK. This is the third time I have met him and he has changed yet again. Afterwards I find myself at Somerset House at an outdoors movie event. I am with my family and my old uncle and aunt we all used to holiday with when I was younger. The movie showing is E.T. and it is a real regression back to my youth. While my dad, uncle and aunt potter at the entrance buying food mum sets out our picnic blanket on her own only to have some snotty bitch girls spread their legs to take up what mum had intended as our space. Mum is trying her best but she just does not understand the procedures and conventions at these things and how the modern generation (my generation) acts. Mum however still thinks that despite the girls now taking up more of our allotted space she will be able to squeeze all five of us into the spot. It’s a naivety that comes from age and not understanding the modern world. I feel bad and angry about this and take it out on the girls. Somehow from somewhere I suddenly have a baseball bat in my hand and I begin hitting the girl’s leg with it, not too hard but hard enough. We open a nasty dialogue and I am obviously deemed to be the person in the wrong. Eventually though they get their way and we move and as we do I pat the girl in the face a couple of times with the baseball so that she feels it which garners the response “that’s a bit excessive isn’t it.” I don’t know, is it? I wind up ditching my family to sit on a table at the side of the screen. The opening movie shows and its some classic family slop, forgive me for not remembering what it is. On the table the random family is upper middle class and having a feast and I get welcomed into the fold of sampling/eating their food. I put on the manners and make a success of things. After the movie I head off to find my family again. I find Dad who points us towards mum who has set up the blanket right at the front of the stage meaning that we will have to creek our necks up almost vertically to see the movie. By now they have ditched my aunt and uncle. Again I rant about this and feel like a cunt afterwards. We move to any area in the middle where there is plenty of space, something I just know about from experience of these events when unfortunately it is taken as me acting as if I know it all. The dream ends depressingly.
As a result of the dream I wake up feeling deflated today. Unsure of the time I fear I have gone past 9AM but actually it is barely 8AM. All in all however I still feel exhausted and pretty miserable.
Bored I head to Asda and do the shopping thing. With boring predictability I see The Crab, buy absolutely toss in the form of food and worryingly when I come to pay at the checkout I find myself again forgetting my pin number. After two failed attempts the game is almost over but thankfully I have the number written down somewhere.
Terrifyingly off the back of my dream when I check the TV listings I see E.T. is on ITV2 this afternoon.
I spend the morning doing some writing and procrastinating about heading up to Ross’s this evening. Eventually however (while I am listening to the new Shonen Knife CD) he sends me a text message with directions.
Eventually I leave Colchester around 3.45PM and head up the A14 towards Cambridgeshire. It has been a while since I have driven up this road and as ever it brings out the worst in me but also it is a nice drive and opportunity to rip loose and give the Focus and run out. I experiment with illegal speeds as I lay claim as king of the road on a gorgeously sunny day.
The drive is OK. The only annoyance turns out to be when some poodling woman fucks me about as I change from the A12 to the A14. After cutting me up seemingly in a gesture to slow me down as I pass her I see the passenger (her husband I guess) sarcastically applaud my driving. This makes me so mad.
The journey feels longer than my last visit to March as I forget to take a detour through the sticks this year. It is 5.45PM and the most beautiful evening as I arrive into Ross’s hometown. Under this natural lighting it looks great today.
Ross lives at the address West End. This turns out to be a winding road along the river containing cosy homes and sweet cottages. I drive down the “road” for a short while but soon find my faced with the reality that it is more of a path. As I find a place to park up and look for his place on foot the greenage of the area floors me and the walk to his crib reminds me of places I spent my youth.
After a lengthy walk I find his flat situated in a huge house so perfectly situated. Being that I have parked about ten minutes walk away I go collect my car and park closer. Once back at his place it turns out that I am first to arrive. Unfortunately I’m not much fun with it, slightly zonked by the combination of the drive and general slow pace of an ideal summer day.
His place is amazing. Notch up yet another one of my friends with a nicer and bigger place than my own, one that has more rooms and generally possesses more of an adult and mature air to it. As ever this serves as a timely notice that I need to do something about/with my own place and life.
As we sit mumbling we begin drinking but I begin to suspect I won’t be getting drunk today. These days I can usually tell how things will go by my state of mind at the beginning of proceedings.
Eventually Tom and his brother arrive and things liven up. With them they bring amazing gifts that make my Luke Haines book look like a piece of cheese. Amongst the gifts is Love Thy Neighbour DVD, a book about conspiracy theories and a Boney M vinyl. Amazing. Quite frankly these are the things that made this country once great.
As things pick up Tom begins telling us about various things Liverpool that include this weird character called Purple Aki. The guy sounds too fucked up to be true but as I interrogate the internets it turns out everything Tom is saying/telling is true.
Soon Chris (Summerlin) turns up and things get swinging. Its actually pretty nice to see him again, for all the crappy stories I hear about him face to face we never exchange a cross word.
Gradually as more drinks get sunk the tunes get louder and better. In what would have felt unthinkable years ago tonight Ross plays copious amounts of R Kelly while we all appear to interpretative dancing to “Ignition.”
The tunes come via Spotify and this now appears how you spin tunes at parties. When I eventually get my opportunity to grab some DJ Gram action I wheel classic rock/rap crossovers such as Obie Trice “Wanna Know” and Time Zone “World Destruction.” My choices however prove not too popular as when I realise I have cleared the room I saunter outside to find everyone chatting in the doorway.
Around 10PM we head into March and welcome to the jungle. I have been told utter horror stories about the nightlife of this place so totally suckered in I find myself sporting trepidation at what might be found on the streets of this backwater town when steaming on alcohol.
We enter a pub called The Acres where a duo are singing the latest in rock pop covers. As we step in I feel we get evil looks from the act but I just wave in a gesture of peace and warmth.
The warm feel of the season maintains and as we step outside into the beer garden it all resembles the best of times in pleasantly tranquil settings. Spoke too soon.
As I look in the distance of the beer garden a few voices get raised and then a little shoving occurs and then suddenly the younger guy whips off his shirt in a gesture of pub war. Its go time. One of them stumbles to the ground as voices get raised and a third person endeavours to come between the ruck and split them up. This is good stuff.
Inevitably they both get lead out of the pub at which we turn around to see them on the other side of the railings we are sat near trying to pound shit out of each other. In reality they are too pissed to connect and suddenly it becomes one hell of a shoving and slapping match and the few times any swings make contact it is the sound of slapping ham.
The fight lasts longer than the one in They Live as the aggression never really manifests itself beyond a lot of snarling. For the longest of periods they wind up on the ground on top of each other which looks more like they are fucking than fighting. I feel totally gutted when I am unable to get a decent photo of proceedings although those in our group with better equipment get video and decent pictures. Fiona even takes shots using a flash with terrifies me at the prospect of riling the wrestlers towards our direction.
It proves to be the highlight of our night. The guys from March had promised me this kind of drama but I don’t think they believed they would ever be able to serve up anything this good.
We move tables to get closer to the speakers as Ross fills the jukebox with coins in exchange for grunge hits. While we sit discussing all and sundry some drunk girl called Julie comes over and sits with us. She tells me that she recognises me from somewhere but I figure she just thinks that I am James Corden. Still, she is insistent.
Off her fucking nut this Julie girl is actually quite likeable even if it is plainly obvious that she is a sort. It turns out that she from Essex as well (with hindsight it was there in her accent) and as she tells the guy that she was with to “fuck off” and repeatedly refers to him as a “wanker” suddenly I begin to feel a bit concerned that we might be the next people to get in a small town fight.
Eventually she fucks off back to her other chav friends before we are slowly manoeuvred out of the beer garden and into the pub as the place slowly begins to shut up for the night.
We leave at 1AM rolling out onto the greenery of March. There is no hint of a chill in the air instead there is still plenty of good intention in the air. Talk is expressed of heading back into town to get a “dirty burger” which for a strong moment I think is the name of the best fast food joint March has to offer. In the end though with a lengthy walk ahead of us and the desire to avoid obnoxious drunk locals the promise of pizza back at the crib is the best we have on offer.
It proves to be a lengthy walk back to Ross’ as a spot of Michael Jackson tree climbing proves irresistible to the others. As we cross the bridge at the river I suffer a near heart attack as Tom decides to climb on the outside of the structure. In the end he survives though, he doesn’t fall in, he doesn’t die.
Arrival back at the house is to the winning combination of the promised pizza and sound bombing to pop hits on Youtube. As the front room begins to double as a dance floor I begin to wonder if the party ever ends in Cambridgeshire.
With the hours getting early eventually all proceedings come to an end and sofa beds get wheeled out. On Last FM Tom sets up some kind of playlist that plays out while we pass out and when I reawaken an hour or two later the music is still playing out. Unable to find the off button I just turn the volume down to zero and fall back to sleep. This is the modern way of partying.
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