Sunday 4 October 2009

RURAL AND DISCREET

9.30AM on a sunny Sunday morning. The sun is shining on a beautiful autumn day and I find myself lost in Dedham. This is what I call a Henry Miller morning. For a full run down you will have to read Discretion.

Fucking me must be akin to fucking a corpse. Everything is so slow and loveless, there is no affection or much in the way of passion. The work resembles that of a machine, there is a duty to finish the job and being painfully self conscious all measures are made to take the focus away from me and my ugly body and all onto the individual unfortunate enough to be receiving my “love.” Only people who have sex with me will realise just what a depressed individual I am.

Around midday with my job done I end up in Sainsburys on Stanway purchasing the day’s newspapers and buying myself some treats as I haven’t yet had breakfast.

As I walk towards the store I find my iPhone is not turning on again. This morning it wasn’t quick/fast in powering up but now it has completely died on me. This is what I believe they call “coma mode.”

I do the do at Sainsburys buying newspapers and caffeine fizzy drinks before heading back to the flat to do a bit of writing before I head over to the olds. The problem is now that my iPhone stores ALL of my notes towards the blog and various other bits of writing I do and without the notes on the phone I am lost. If this phone is indeed dead and my notes now history I have literally lost months of work. To say I am panicked is to say the least.

With the phone failing to power up I decide to head straight to the O2 shop and see where I stand. It is insured but I don’t know if the notes are kept on the sim card or the phone that is dead. Rather than getting it replaced I may have to look into paying big bucks and actually get it repaired at an Apple store. This fucking sucks.

I quickly stomp into town before mum serves up lunch and as I pass the Gap it appears to be 50% off everything. This coming the day after I bought new trousers in there. Why didn’t kindly warn me yesterday? It would have saved me over £17.

Inside the O2 shop I don’t find myself met with much joy as the egg headed ponce that deals with me isn’t very helpful or useful. You really do need zero qualifications to work in a mobile phone shop after all. He is absolutely zero interested in my cause, barely assisting me in my queries and passing the buck onto a phone number for me to call. I discover with my insurance cover means they will deliver a new iPhone to me but I have to hand over the broken one. I ask him if the notes are kept on the sim card but it turns out they’re on the phone but if I have done a backup on iTunes recently it will have most of them. Now this sucks double considering that I have recently had to reload iTunes onto my PC at work where I source my iPhone. It is plainly obvious that I am not going to get any joy from this guy so quickly I cut my losses and head off home (my parents’) in a sense of panic and lose.

As a result of all this hassle I do Sunday lunch in a shit mood as my parents endeavour to converse with me and I just grunt back at them in the style of a teenager.

On Sky first this afternoon is Arsenal v Blackburn who run out 6-2 victors and begins to look a bit tasty, perhaps the Arsenal team have turned the corner and are now recovering. Later the main game is Chelsea v Liverpool which turns out to be horribly boring and predictable. The Big Four sure aren’t what they used to be.

Eventually I head home to do some writing and set up alternative options for tomorrow regarding my non-operational iPhone. God bless dad as he lends me his aged mobile phone so that I can put his sim card into my old and reliable Nokia that served me well far longer than it should have. Also for the first time I pull the 80GB iPod out of its box for the firs time that I bought in September 07 one evening after catching the tube with Zoe for the first time. After a bit of arsing around I begin filling it with songs from my Dell desktop iTunes. My broken iPhone is such a fucking inconvenience.

Finally I call time on an exhausting day.