Friday, July 31, 2009


Friday 31 July 2009

Today I wake up around 5.20AM covered in fever dreams and worry about my lambasting from Kerry-Jo on Facebook last night. It worries me how a person have such a negative and wrong perception of me.

Eventually I move properly at 5.40AM and leave around 6.20AM. I worry that with only gaining around three or four hours sleep last night will potentially involve just as little energy today.

The walk to the station is fresh this morning, in other words summer cold. It works for me however.

At the station one of the staff, one of the scabs, smiles at me to whom I respond by scowling and ignoring her. This is what she deserves; do not pretend that this situation is acceptable.

The platform appears/feels somewhat more busy today. I see The Wookiee. Ironically today when we board the train there is much more room than yesterday and even seats for those that can be bothered to sought them.

The apologies from Information Jimmy over the train PA sound completely hollow this morning.

As a gesture the RMT have failed with their strike. Services have hardly ground to a halt (as was their apparent desire) and instead have only given birth to major inconvenience/nuisance and now a distinct lack of sympathy and support to their cause from the passengers. National Express were already major villains but now their staff and union are disliked too because they have blotted their reputation is a more explicit, direct and tangible manner. They’ve scored one hell of an own goal.

National Socialism, the National Front and National Express – things called National are pretty rubbish.

Today on the train there is a really hot Adrienne Shelly with Traci Lords lookalike complete with sunglasses to add to and complete the air of mystery. She is not the usual commuter fodder and I cannot help but feel amazed and dazzled by her efforts. No wedding ring. No green light either though.

It’s payday! Now lets see just how long it is before/until the vultures and vampires suck me dry.

The fucking train beaches outside Stratford. Motherfucker! I decide not to get off at Stratford and do the Nike swish today, there is no necessity derived from panic to escape this train today, just a desire to set fire to it and teach someone a lesson.

Here’s a thing. If the majority of the line is not moving today due to the strike why the fuck are we beaching outside the fucking station? There is no fucking traffic to be getting caught up in.

Eventually I get into work where my efforts against public transport appear appreciated.

Today thankfully turns out to be a relatively smooth day, we are at the end of the month now so most of our work has been put to bed for the month until August starts next week.

Sadly the news comes through that Bobby Robson has passed away. When he attended the tribute match the other Sunday he did look scarily fragile, verging on unrecognisable. Soon people begin expressing tributes and they are warmer and most vast than usual sentiments. I guess being the greatest England manager of my generation/lifetime will have meant he helped provided many exciting moments for people.

My own Bobby Robson anecdote is how I used to play five-a-side football with the very first player that Robson released when he joined Ipswich Town. The guy was only a youth player and never made it anywhere else but it makes for a great story/legacy. I have looked the guy up in the records and on the internet but never seen his named mentioned which does bring the story into question in some degree but the fact that he was so skilful and always wiped the floor with us despite being double our age would suggest/indicate some level/degree of school. He was also the guy that gave me “The Cat” nickname for my goalkeeping exploits.

In the afternoon things begin to truly wind down, not least when our boss plops himself down at the spare desk and begins to have a snooze in the seat. I guess its kind of obvious why I get on with the guy.

Tonight is the outdoor film screening of Alien and Poltergeist at Somerset House which I am going to with Racton, Eleanor and others including a guy called Stephen who is responsible for the Adam And Joe cry of “Stephen”, “I’m coming” (I guess you have to be a fan). As ever I am quite excited about hanging out with the most minor of celebrities.

Over the course of the day everyone seems quite busy and when it comes to heading over no real solid plans have been hatched. In the end Racton tells me that he is heading to Holborn from work so I arrange to meet him there.

For about half an hour I stand on the corner of Holborn watching a busy London summer night fly past me. Everyone seems to be smoking these days. Well, everyone that decides to stand next to me while waiting for his or her own friends. This is truly a hectic part of town inhabited by all kinds of specimens, many of whom I find attractive.

Eventually Racton turns up reporting that people are already at Somerset House in the grand queue with view to snagging a hot spot. We briefly stop by the Sainsburys before joining them.



I have never been to Somerset House before but I have been hearing for years from people who have attended cool stuff and when we roll up at the place it truly is impressive.

Upon arrival I get into the spirit of things by purchasing a special Film Four blanket at an inflated price that rolls up into something that is easy to carry around.

As we queue there is briefly a minor panic when it appears that the security Nazis are not allowing people with bottles into the venue and suddenly our numerous bottles of pop and plonk begin to look endangered and precarious. After a few stunted attempts at making punters pour their bottles into plastic cups (pretty futile) security soon relaxes and common sense prevails.

The event of seeing these movies outside on a huge screen comes coupled with a picnic beforehand and with this the others truly put me to shame offering up an amazing spread and including me when my own efforts offer little more than nibbles. This is how every summer night should be spent, lounging and indulging in the kindest of evenings, full benefiting from what the world has to offer. These are the best of times.

As a DJ plays soundtrack hits in the distance we truly chill until the sun begins to go down and naturally it is time to watch the first movie.

Just before Alien begins the announcer says that there is a special guest to introduce the movie and it turns out to be Officer Kane (John Hurt), which is mondo cool. He jokes about the filming of his famous scene with the alien bursting out of his belly and the guy is just a total legend.

Alien is Alien and thankfully it has been several years now since I last saw it so it is pretty fresh as a result. Less fresh are the latecomers in front of me who decide to lie in front of me for the duration pretty much on top of each other. At the end of proceedings we will all give them dirty looks as they pack off home before Poltergeist begins.



It is quite a spectacle to see the movie screen cast in reverence to its surroundings, to the most regal of buildings framing it while above the stars begin to come out on another amazing summer evening. Who ever came up with this concept of watching movies outdoors at the height of summer knows the idea of outdoor luxury. As the terrifying opening credits for the movie roll out I actually get Goosebumps.

Alien is a movie I can remember being terrified of when I was a youngster but as an adult I have kind of lost my desire to watch science fiction and horror movies, I guess I find the world dark and confusing enough already. This time now I find myself understanding the Weyland-Yutani element fully and thoroughly. Also later after the event Racton points out that it was the special edition where it features Tom Skerrit begging Sigourney Weaver to kill him.

After the movie there is the beginnings of a chill in the air and thankfully with this the three middle-aged twats in front of us decide to head off, probably with view to attempting group sex. I am somewhat relieved when everybody around me points out what monumental twats they were throughout the movie; I thought it was just me being hypersensitive.

With my body now hating me for having sat on the cold stone ground for several hours now I have to head to the bathroom to relieve myself. As I emerge and return to our picnic zone I spot John Hurt coming in the opposite direction and as I pass him I perform the perfect gesture of recognition without being a pest with a spot on nod and smile that acknowledges.

In the brief gap between movies we reacquaint with each other in a gesture of having made it through the first part of the marathon.

Soon Poltergeist kicks off and it genuinely surprises me just how much of the movie I can remember, especially consider how little a fan I was/am of it originally. I remember it was once responsible for one of the most terrifying moments of my childhood at Christmas as after watching it one night later in the middle of the night one of my new Liverpool FC posters suddenly came loose of its Blu-Tack and rolled up on its own before falling to the ground in very noisy fashion.

As the movie rolls I receive a text message from Nina informing me that Noirin has unsurprisingly been voted out of Big Brother (“Ha, noirin is out. See ya later be-atch lol”).

Unfortunately with the night getting older and later the climate also turns colder and the clouds above begin to suggest a shower. With the tubes being screwed up and this a late one anyway Racton is good enough to offer me the spare room in his Tulse Hill crib tonight and as I begin to lose interest in the movie this gets coupled with a dash of drizzle which sees me giving in on the night and rolling up in my new Film Four blanket for something of a snooze.

Luckily I am not a complete party pooper to the point that I miss the famous line of Poltergeist and when the little girl delivers “they’re here” it echoes around Somerset House in the most thrilling and exciting of manners. In the end I manage to keep my eyes open for the climax (now this is something I do not remember or recall).

As the movie rolls to an end we all quickly gather up our remaining food and belongings. Myself emerging from a disco nap I only find myself perving over a girl in the distance wishing that it were her I was going home with tonight.

With the weather now taking a definite turn for the worse we leave Somerset House and head towards getting a bus.

The bus ride is its usual terrifying experience for me and as it wheels through Kennington I reel off my usual list of people I know who live there. We stand for the entire duration of the journey suffering a fellow passenger exhibiting some of the worst BO known to Western civilisation.

Eventually we get through Brixton and into Streatham where we get off the bus and attack the hill of Tulse Hill. Its arduous and hard work as the night now well into the early hours sees me almost falling asleep while walking.

As we near Racton’s street some mardy black girl asks us the directions to somewhere grotty. I don’t bother responding to her with anything more than a limp point but the others indulge her to which she fails to respond with thanks. Some people in the early hours.

When we get back to Racton’s crib it is with the highest sense of relief. Now home we don’t mess about and quickly we all head to bed to rescue what sleep we can.

Hurts.

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