Tuesday, November 14, 2006


AM: I wake up this morning not remembering having fallen asleep in the first place. I check my Last.Fm and it seems I fell asleep playing my iTunes as several songs I have never heard in my life have registered on said spy website. This morning is grim and dark, what happened to the benefits of moving/changing our clocks forwards?




Last night I went to the Curzon to see The Host. JK my depressed Korean friend told me about the movie months ago and all descriptions/reviews really bode well for it being a most fantastic monster movie. And for thirty minutes it truly was, the cast was likeable and the effects were great. The dramatic sound effects attached to the onslaught of the beast were genuinely heart stopping and occasionally had me hopping in my chair. The monster devoured a group of sun seekers on the banks of the Korean Thames in record time, in a very camp manner that at times had me (and many of my accompanying film-goers) laughing out loud. The movie started out with likeable characters, great effects and truly spectacular action. Then unfortunately the movie decided to add a plot/story and even a bit of an eco-message, at which point the movie seemed to ground to a crunching halt after the visceral opening. I came into the movie hoping to witness the new Godzilla for a new century, hoping to see a monster tearing up landscapes and killing people for an hour and a half. Sadly this was not to be as a likeable family, after the funniest (purposely?) expression of grief in the history of film, set about on an almost LOTR-esqe quest to rescue the youngest of the family. After a lot of often gruesome weirdness, lots of open ends felt left hanging as the movie reached a semi-spectacular climax (although one not topping the initial wave/tide of excitement of the initial onslaught). I left the cinema with mixed emotions, partly feeling that I had wasted my time and party feeling as if I had just been on an amusement park ride I didn’t quite enjoy.




Back to this morning though and at least I got a decent seat on the train this morning, one with the option of at least passing out against the window. Instead I opt out of this opportunity and concentrate really hard on my iPod whilst sitting opposite the lady that uses her coat as a pillow and sleeps through every journey, every morning. Each day she wears sunglasses even though it is now verging on winter. I sometimes wonder if these sunglasses give her super powers or an insight to the world akin to the glasses in the movie They Live, does she see right through my fa├žade? A person would be forgiven for thinking that she was blind and rocking the Stevie Wonder/Ray Charles look.




Elsewhere on the train the scummy bloke that has worked at Thorpe-Le-Soken train station as long as I can remember (probably 15 plus years) makes one of his occasional trips to London. I only mention him because he has a more than recurring resemblance to Bob from Twin Peaks. It goes without saying that he frightens me and I spend a concentrated amount of my journey avoiding eye contact with him.




Unfortunately the Stone Cold Muslim is not on the train, I think she catches the 7.07 instead of my 7.30 – those extra four minutes mean so much.




By the time we roll into Liverpool Street and slight past 8AM, I am once more cursing my fatigue and questioning my lifestyle choices and work/job position.




After a tube ride where everyone appears to have the most brilliant and beautiful brown eyes this morning, I head up Portobello Road with my trousers pretty much falling down – is this a sign of losing weight or piling on weight? Right now these days I will “drop pants for food”.




For a second day running I have a Big Four marking as while I type this prior to beginning work for the day, a person working for Deloitte Touche appears on a radio quiz. She doesn’t sound up to much either in earnest really (ha ha).




The wonders of Myspace never cease to waste and while my days away, everyone on there looks so functioning and perfect, my own profile include (one of the 15 or so I inhabit, the fakester that I am). As I check the twentieth profile of the day I notice the morn has nearly reached 11AM and I have accomplished and produced very little work in the process. My bad.




Finally I rediscover coffee and get a buzz on that will see me power through the remainder of the morning to that much needed goal of food, no time for breakfast this morning and no funds for snacks in-between as I rock a food budget today of £1.10.




Today the “Word Of The Day” on Google is “gauche”, a world that I only learned myself last week and one that I fear describes myself to some extent at times. I really try not to be gauche but I can’t help it, for some reason I have some vital tools in that area missing.




I’m thinking a lot about the past today, how I treated people five years ago and where I am now and where they are now. Would I swap my current position/situation with them – not in a second. Would they with me? Certainly and definitely not. So what does this tell me about the world in general as I waste too much time thinking and considering our respective standings? Not much, it just only serves to display how insignificant ideals are against those that are pushed on a person at a certain time. Regardless of what an individual does, usually the world keeps on turning and people move from one post to another. And this has been a lesson hard learned by me. Certainly a lot of incidents have left their mark/scar on me and now to some extent dictate my actions and emotions to certain people and instances but baggage in the long run is there for a reason, a reason I am not really 100% certain I know.




PM: lunch arrives not before time but as I fall out of the office/studio out onto the London streets I am greeted with a rain sodden day, much more grey than earlier when I arrived. I hurdle to Tesco to buy my miniscule lunch, in the process having to shove several out of the way several people not talking English along with old people moving at zero mph, seemingly vertically falling asleep in the process of their shopping. On a budget today I buy loser’s houmous and brown pitta (thinking of my health) before heading back to work having to avoid tourists, a bouncing skaghead and a Muslim disguised as one of those rent-a-cop community officers with their blue bags, fancy hats and zero authority. The guy looks at me with an expression of pure snobbery whereas I stop short at suggesting he buy some bics and lose his scruffy, stupid beard in the name of religious hate (him not me). When I get back I begin toasting the pitta to find that there are only five breads in the supposed six pack. That sums my life up at the moment (and perhaps me): one short of half a dozen (not even aiming for a whole dozen). I can only laugh at these things.





After work I fly down to the Coronet to catch the Tuesday cheap ticket showing of Breaking And Entering. When I arrive at the theatre, for a second week running the queues are stacked outside onto the pavement. Breaking And Entering turned out to be one of those films that make you feel like you’re acting like an adult. It was serious, often interesting but equally often boring and randomly obvious. The cynical snipe the London Paper made of “look, poor people have feelings too” is probably very apt. I don’t know, there is something about Jude Law that really rubs me up the wrong way and I doubt I will ever find him likeable in any role in any movie. Martin Freeman however, despite being the arse of this movie, is always fantastic and I felt made Law look very plain on screen. It annoyed me the way they made Juliette Binoche’s character Muslim. Frenchy was barely believable as an Eastern European but fobbing her off as a Muslim was really a bridge too far. For some reason a culture that regularly kills themselves, kills others, destroy buildings and lives, protests anything under the sun and continually threatens non-Muslims is being portrayed in every other movie as real innocents abroad and victimised in the name of being a positive role-model. Not good. On the flipside, the shots of Kings Cross etc were gritty but pretty and Ray Winstone as a grizzly man was as amusing as it was scruffy. The jury remains undecided.




So, another movie and another late night returning home. By the time I get in it is past 10PM and there is no time to get anything done. I worry about the man sat opposite me on the train home, the ignorant man that seemed incapable of putting a hand over his mouth while he almost coughed up a lung over me. In response I frowned a little before attempting to close my eyes and disappear into a happy place (ha ha). Without much effort I found myself spotting pretty young lady, seeing me spending much of the journey home attempting to stop blushing while I accidentally catch glimpses of her in the hope that she may be glimpsing back. She was/did not. Sadness accrues.




I fall asleep listening to live tracks from the Slint reunion. I am able to tell you this because once more my Last.Fm records my movements while I am in slumber. I fall asleep with my television, computer and lamp on. Is this as good as it gets?

No comments: