Saturday 3 April 2010
Despite the late night
and early hours I still awaken around 8.30AM today, just like a fool. What on earth was up with me last
night? I was even still awake when my neighbour trudged in at
3AM.
From here as per routine I head
over to Asda
just before 9AM where I find myself confronted by the usual shit. This journey feels unnecessary today but I
do it all the same.
Being the end of the
month the new issue of Uncut is out and
it features an old beardy photo of a young(ish) Neil Young on the cover. Basically he looks like Wilfred on it, a
dog. It is also a Private Eye week so before I have even
reached the food portion of my shopping I am already over £10.
I stagger around the
aisles as usual trying not to make eye contact with anyone around me for fear
that they might start on me. Again I am
buying fruit, bananas and apples but avoiding grapes today as they just don’t
feel like value for money.
This week turns out to
be a week where I spot The Crab. I wonder if he recognises me the way that I
recognise him. His routine is almost as
frightening as mine.
Annoying there is no
Gherkin relish this week. Where has it
gone all of a sudden? Was that bottle I
bought a one off? Is it a taste I am
now never to sample ever again?
When I eventually
reach the self service checkouts it is somewhat disheartening how the lady in
charge of them recognises me and smiles in a warm gesture of
acknowledgement. I wonder if she thinks
I am pathetic, the way that I trawl through this routine every Saturday
morning, buying the same shitty products and never improving with/for it. Maybe she pities.
Somehow despite buying
next to fuck all my bill comes to £25.
I look back into my bag and there really is little in the way of food
inside it. Harsh times.
When I get back it is
now well past 9AM and I need to get going on the day. Danny Baker
is not on the radio this week so I get a break from routine there and once I
have packed my shopping away I soon find myself tearing into writing.
At 11AM I change
stations and find myself listening to Adam
Buxton and Liza Tarbuck
who are in from Jonathan
Ross on Radio 2. That Tarbuck gene, always
reminding me of Mr
James.
Soon I find myself
heading to the olds where today Manchester
United are playing Chelsea on Sky in a game that will potentially decide
this season’s Premier
League. As I leave my flat I bump into the neighbour from
downstairs. Last time I saw her she had
bed head as I was attempting to kick our building’s front entrance door in the other
Wednesday. Again I apologise
profusely, which prompts harsh words from her in the direction of my personal trainer neighbour. As ever I’m too diplomatic, not getting as
wound up externally as I do internally.
From here she begins telling me that I owe her an Easter egg. Is this some kind of weird hybrid of
flirting?
Around this point
typically the personal
trainer emerges from the building too, just as we are bemoaning her. Were her ears burning? As my other neighbour trots off into the distance
with her dog I say “hi” to the personal trainer when really I would like to be
pointing out to her that she is a “fucking cunt.”
Eventually I hit the
road to Balkerne
Heights and when I arrive at my parents place it is empty. Did something happen I do not know
about? Even the dog is
gone. With their old neighbours heading
along today I half suspect they have all gone out for lunch without inviting
me. Fiends.
Soon dad returns with
the dog and it turns out that everyone hasn’t gone out with me after all. Not long afterwards mum comes back from town
and finally their old neighbours arrive.
I haven’t seen the wife for a couple of years now and it is really nice
to have everyone back to how it used to be.
From here I head into
town where I buy the new book about Chris Morris
called Disgusting
Bliss. Once I open it up I find it
a really interesting read and tonight I get halfway though it in one foul
swoop.
Back at my parents I
blag some dinner and while the world is watching the new Dr Who we find ourselves watching Cardiff
v Swansea
on Sky. Well, its on in the background,
I don’t think anyone outside of Wales
is actually watching the game. As a
result for the life of me I couldn’t tell you the final score.
Afterwards as I scour
the Sky channels I come across Broadway Danny Rose
on TCM.
This is an amazing find, I love this movie. I think this one of the movies where Woody Allen best balances slapstick and
serious comedy. In amongst all the
silly stuff there are some truly gut wrenching moments as the lovable loser
Danny Rose never appears able to catch a break while at the same time running
into all kinds of trouble. I watch the
majority of the movie before realise that yet again I appear to be spending
(wasting) my Saturday night at my parents’ home.
As I leave to head
home around 8PM the parking situation at Balkerne Heights this evening is
more obscene than ever.
When I get back to Bohemian Grove it is with the intention
of writing. Annoyingly as I pull into our complex there
is a junker heap of a car parked in my space.
I seem to remember the almost exact same thing happening last
Easter.
I continue writing
until late when I head to bed and I strangely decide to watch the Frost/Nixon
Watergate interview DVD that Lovefilm
sent me. It is awful. The modern day introduction to screen by David Frost is so achingly
cringe worthy, the guy is an idiot, Al
Jazeera can fucking have him.
Needless to say the
DVD quickly sends me to sleep.
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