Sunday 14 February 2010 – VALENTINE’S DAY

It is Valentine’s Day so just go out and hang yourself.  What a fucking racket this is.  I remember this day last year and how it almost finished me off.  On one hand it felt like hilarity but on the other hand it felt like an overweight toddler had decided to jump up and down on the crotch of my existence.  Who the fuck announces that they are in a relationship by means of their blog?  What kind of method is that to use?  What a fucking weird concept.

I still have the card that I bought for Zoë but never posted off two years ago.  Ironically it was the person as hinted at above that discouraged me from sending the fucking thing.  With hindsight how much damage would it actually have done?  Zoe and I barely spoke again and as soon as I left that godforsaken company on Baker Street we pretty much severed ties and have never spoken again.  Why do I listen to people when they only offer bad advice and send me reeling off into the wrong direction?  It is just people trying to sculpt me into what and how they want me to be, the version that they think is right.

Today opens mutely.  There were no dreams to report from last night and thankfully I didn’t drink enough to result in a headache or hangover this morning.  Last night however has given birth to food for thought, of where I am going and where other people are heading.  All in all the mini session proved something of an affirmation as to how I am right about so many things and how fortunately I am remaining grounded while so many people around are losing their shit.

Upon returning home last night I tried to watch Baby Mama starring Tina Fey and Amy Poehler but soon into proceedings I fell asleep so this morning I am trying to get back into the movie although it doesn’t appear to be much of a vehicle for two actresses who are now at the top of their game.  When 9AM arrives and I am not yet halfway into the movie I switch it off in preference to catching this week’s Andrew Marr Show, which at least has Mark Thomas on as a guest.

From here I tear into writing and do the usual Sunday thing of trying to squeeze as much as possible into my efforts before the hour of 3PM looms heavy.

Around lunchtime more FA Cup arrives in the form of Bolton v Spurs.  I don’t necessarily pay full attention to it while I write this dribble but I do at least see the goals.

As per routine I head over to the olds for 3PM.  Upon arrival at Balkerne Heights once again it appears to resemble the latest free car park for Colchester town centre.  Today the stupidity of the current parking restrictions (or rather lack thereof) reaches new heights as ironically when the only places people are able to get ticketed or clamped being the actual visitors parking bays, these are the only spaces that remains empty.  This world.

Upon stepping into their apartment (their condo?) as usual the dog goes crazy for me for five minutes before cooling off and barely giving me the time of day (any attention) for the remainder of proceedings.

Today for Sunday roast mum has changed stuffing and it tastes amazing.  Good choice.

Shortly after this the Bolton v Spurs game ends at 1-1 which hardly proves to be the game of the season in anyone’s books.  Football just ain’t what it used to be anymore.

The second game of the afternoon turns out to be Crystal Palace v Aston Villa in the battle of the brown shirts (well, they look brown).  This truly is not a fixture that holds any weight for me so instead I turn to the iPlayer and the option of watching last night’s The Virtual Revolution which is both fascinating and hosted by someone I really fancy.

Despite my reservations I watch the second half of the Crystal Palace v Aston Villa game, which thankfully livens up tenfold when Darren Ambrose scores a screamer from a free kick.  Eventually (and predictably) against the run of the game (but keeping up with form) Villa score a late equalizer which then prompts a classic rant from Neil Warnock after the game, one he will no doubt get into trouble for but at least the guy has an opinion and isn’t afraid to express it.

After the game the FA Cup draw is shown live which this round is being performed by Luther Blissett and Tim Lovejoy.  Where to begin with this.

These days I thought Luther Blissett was supposed to be something of a media enigma, a prankster of the highest degree and the strangest of subversive online occurrences to arrive in recent years.  Pretty much by this point the original footballer of said given name seems almost to be considered a figment of our collective imaginations.  However here he is today in all his past and failed glory.  Likewise it is interesting to observe Lovejoy as he literally shakes with nerves throughout the draw.  He realises he is out of place, undeserving and should not be here at this time.  You can’t help but feel what he knows about football comes from one source: the corporate one.  That said it is years now since I last watched Soccer AM on Saturdays but these days watching his efforts on BBC2 on Sunday mornings it just screams fraud through and through.

With this the day begins to come to an end.  I stick around and grab some dinner while rewatching Harry Hill with my family which this week culminates with Danny Baker playing the accordion while singing the latest hit from Cheryl Cole.  All TV should end this way.

Once back home I catch up on a little bit of writing before falling asleep to bad television.