Monday, December 14, 2009

Monday 14 December 2009

The late can of Relentless that I drank last night painfully kicks into my brief night’s sleep as I find myself restless and fidgety all through the night (well, early hours) and when I eventually pull myself out of bed at 8.15AM it is with some resentment and a lot of nausea.

Slowly I murmur, dress myself and manage to stagger out into the chalet like a functioning human being only to arrive at the sudden realisation that despite bringing along a week’s worth of clothes to the weekend I have remained in the same trousers and v-neck for the whole festival. Really this is inexcusable.

Briefly I consider beginning to tidy the chalet up but everywhere is smoking paraphernalia and it just makes me feel queasy. I truly find anyone that smokes roll up cigarettes horribly vile and disgusting. Surely there are better methods with which to display to the world that you are poor and carefree.

Fortunately not long after I stir Racton emerges and eventually most of the others follow and thus begins a full on tidy and a Supermarket Sweep type food grab occurs. Usually being the driver I tend to do very well out of this. Once again for a third festival running we have a crate of beer remaining that has sat untouched. We’re are losing, are we not men?

After going over the chalet surprisingly quickly it is made to look habitable once more and with the Manchester bound people moving slowly and suffering in the process us Southerners are soon heading home leaving the complex around 9.50AM to the winsome strains of Chris Moyles on the radio. Have we not suffered enough this weekend already?

Before leaving Minehead I stop off at the Tesco to get petrol because I really don’t wish to be caught paying motorway petrol prices later on. As I pay at the pump Matthew seems surprisingly impressed by my ability to do so. This isn’t really a new development, you should have been here ten years ago.

Despite any early wrong turning ultimately the drive home turns out to be a winning record breaker, perhaps my fastest drive out of Minehead yet. As the journey unwinds Racton and I get begin to get philosophical about things and with a new decade dawning it seems as if we are both on the cusp on major developments. Or so our words would suggest at this time.

Almost immediately behind us Matthew falls asleep and I swear over the course of the journey he sings mellow indie hits in his sleep. We don’t need a radio.

Today I take the motorways to school, taking up the mantel of King Of The Road (as in the episode of Pete And Pete). As London beckons ever closer I don’t even bother to make a toilet break, something Racton almost begs for just as we hit the M25. In a sincere manner I promise that we will stop at the next services but before I know it the four (sometimes five) lane M25 full of signs to places I recognise, know and love now displays a distinct lack of services and a distinct lack of sympathy.

In the end we actually arrive back at Caterham before we come across somewhere to take a piss break. The time of arrival is 1.30PM which suggests a shocking display motoring prowess.

With the usual sadness attached to ending the ATP weekend I bid my co-conspirators’ farewell and good luck for the rest of their lives. Whether I see either of these guys before Christmas now is in the balance and as a result it comes somewhat emotional.

Turning around and returning to the M25 now it looked like a clear solo drive back to Essex for me now. Thankfully the weather was being kind and with it the skies shone blue with viewing to complimenting my mind. After a lengthy bout of racing with the M25 eventually I found myself at the Dartford toll and flying through the tunnel emerging on the other side to a road sign displayed in gold to me: Essex.

Eventually I arrive at the A12 and today it takes care of me as the home straight proves an exciting obstacle as the prospect from the joy of getting home begins to overwhelm me.

An hour after dropping my friends off at Caterham I arrive back to Bohemian Grove in Colchester. The time of arrival is around 2.30PM and it is to the sight of several packages planted at my door. Christmas was suddenly quite literally arriving.

As I lug my bags out of my car I notice the mess that the walls of our communal area and landing are in. It’s the fucking new girl next door banging her bike against them as she parks it upstairs against the rails. You can tell she is a renter as opposed to a homeowner.

Not long after getting back there is a knock at my door and it is the postman with a recorded letter for me in addition to a number of other packages. I sign for the letter as he comments about the post that I have got. Against what I was suspecting he does in fact not hate me for making him carry so much of my post.

The letter looks ominous. For some reason I have a distinct inkling that the letter is bad news and indeed it is as it turns out to be from a solicitor regarding the Balkerne Heights website that I set up in the summer. On first view it is a pretty heavy letter but at this time I can’t fully take it in, there is too much going on and I’m going to have to sleep on it. It reads:

“Dear Sir

Re:balkerneheights.co.uk(“the Domain Name”)
Balkerneheightscolchester.blogspot.com

We act for Balkerne Heights Residents Company Ltd. As you know, our client is the owner of the leasehold of the Balkerne Heights development near Colchester.

Our client has rights including common law rights in the name “Balkerne Heights”.

It has come to our client’s attention that you have registered the Domain Name and that the Domain Name and balkerneheightscolchester.blogspot.com are both being used for websites (the Websites) which appear to be official websites of our client. The purpose of such behaviour can only have been to deceive web users searching for our client and/or to cause harm to our client and its officers. Your activities in this regard constitute passing off and, in addition, the Domain is an abusive registration. Further, the Websites contain private contact information (including name, address, telephone number, email address) of a number of officers of our client. Those officers have not consented to your posting this information on the Websites and as a result they are receiving many communications. This activity constitutes unlawful processing of personal date under the Data Protection Act 1998.

We require that you immediately (1) transfer the Domain Name to our client; (2) delete the url balkerneheightscolchester.blogspot.com; (3) permanently remove the Websites and (4) confirm that you do not own, and will not in future register, any other domain names which contain the words “Balkerne Heights” (or any similar variation) or otherwise misuse such name or engage in similar conduct to that outlined above.

Should we fail to receive confirmation of compliance with the above within seven days from today’s date, our client will have no alternative but to institute legal proceedings against you for, inter alia, passing off and breach of the Data Protection Act 1998. This will include an application for an injunction as well as a claim for payment of damages and legal costs. In addition, our client will file a complaint under Nominet’s Dispute Resolution Service seeking transfer to it of the Domain Name and lodge a complaint with the Information Commissioner.

Yours faithfully

*SIGNATURE*

(no name)”

For the record the letter comes from Adlex Solicitors.

To say this is hard to take in is to say the least. Where on earth has this suddenly come from? What has suddenly rattled this cage?

Instead of worrying about it at this time I put on the Danny Baker BBC London show and eventually nod off in the process, catching up on some of the sleep that was lacking from the weekend.

In the early evening I attempt some writing but I am just too tired to muster anything up and off the back of the letter I find myself feeling somewhat disillusioned. Writing always seems to get me into trouble.

From here I head back to bed and with nothing on TV I end up watching a recent episode of SNL before falling asleep in the middle of it.

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