Saturday, February 13, 2010


Saturday 13 February 2010

Happy Birthday Henry Rollins.

More disturbing and tangible dreams bothered me last night, sinking its claws into my psyche and shaped the mood with which I awaken into this day.

It is just after 8AM when I finally wake up.  I half expect it to be later but when I check my watch my body clock has been faithful.  I didn’t expect to be in bed as early as I was last night originally but annoyingly against this I do not feel refreshed or rejuvenated.

With the world my oyster what do I do?  Yes, I head straight to Asda on the Saturday newspaper run as per my weekly routine.  This truly is life in the fast lane.

It is probably with bedhead that I drive to the supermarket.  As I leave my apartment complex the yoghurt lid is still in place and causing me much annoyance.  This is now day eleven of its existence on the landing.  Will that girl Caroline Geary (the Pig Personal Trainer) ever clean up after herself?

The day begins slightly badly as despite the television adverts declaring that today’s Daily Mail has a free copy of Love Story with it, when I finally investigate the offer it turns out to be a cut out token job.  I do feel partly scuppered in my plans by this, I was genuinely intending to watch that film today with some kind of morbid fascination.  I have heard Robert Evans talk about it in the past so just what kind of magic does it possess?  In the end though it is probably a good thing that the offer is not as I had imagined, firstly it means I do not have to buy the Daily Mail and second I don’t really think it is healthy to be indulging in such pap at these times.

From her I slog around Asda looking at things I could buy but instead I plump for the usual shit.  Even buying sausages now feels like a guilty pleasure, some kind of treat against convention.

Once done I head back home where I spend my usual Saturday morning listening to the Danny Baker show on Five Live where his guest this week is Paul Whitehouse.  The show is its usual breeze.  This is the radio equivalent of comfort food.

The show ends at 11AM so I turn over to Radio 2 and the closing days of the Jonathan Ross radio show.  Today he has Bombay Bicycle Club in as music guests and currently (by accident I would imagine) they have my favourite song on the Radio One playlist.  Still I am suspicious of them though and annoyingly their performance on this show today fails to match the heights that their current song suggests.  These things.

From here I pick up writing and it all goes OK.  It still feels like a never-ending chore but even though I do not feel like I am making progressing I certainly am producing work somewhere/somehow.

Today is FA Cup weekend again and this once more means two games on ITV.  The first game is Southampton v Portsmouth, which is a truly strange local derby now with the added spice of Portsmouth skirting on the edge of no longer existing.  A couple of years ago Southampton faced similar circumstances but now Pompey genuinely seem doomed, this is a club that will require so much rebuilding if it manages to gets through this.

Offering his opinion for ITV today is Mark Hateley.  Where the hell did they dig him up from him?  The guy looks terrifying.  Good from one perspective but leathery from another.  Somehow he now looks like David Carradine, which I guess is some kind of accomplishment.  I’m sure he gets him women.  Now lets just hope he doesn’t choke himself to death.  Elsewhere the Portsmouth mascot reveals himself to being really shit at doing the moonwalk.

The game opens unsurprisingly in dull fashion, in the grand scheme of thing who gives a flying fuck about either of these teams.  It’s not nice to see football clubs suffering and on the verge of going out of business but over the years Portsmouth were nothing but a pain in the arse akin to Leeds wannabes.  Today the only element of real interest for me is Jamie O’Hara playing.  Slowly the game opens up but eventually I get bored of it and head back to bed due to the day being dank and chilly.  As I do so it is with the score at 1-1.

While I sit on my throne and concentrate (I’m talking about having a dump peoples) I hear some rummaging outside on the landing of my floor.  Is it the Pikey Personal Trainer is finally cleaning up after herself?  We can only hope in order that I can stop complaining/whinging about these things.

Not long beyond returning to bed there is a knock on my door.  At first I ignore it but then a second knock occurs and fearing the worst I make the huge effort to get up and answer it, pissed off by the interruption and disruption.  As I swing the door open I find myself faced with three local Conservative Party councillors attempting to introduce themselves.  Barely dressed in the early afternoon I don’t exactly look as if I am somebody interested in what they have to sell me.  Quickly they shove their calling card in my hand and turn face as quickly as I do.  They do not offer me opportunity to ask them if they know Terry Sutton.

With the reputation that mainstream politicians currently possess is it hardly surprising that I am uninterested when three of their representatives are knocking at my door.  Are these going to be the new doorstep bible bashers now in the run up to the election?  Today these Tories are no different from their opposition that have a legacy now for getting too involved in the Middle East and pandering to any individuals when favours are being called on allowing the finances of our nation to run out of control.  This and the revelations regarding their expenses over the past year has only served to display these people as being greedy, selfish and out of touch.  This country has now felt like a crippled nation for nearly ten years now so please don’t be shocked when I fail to respond to your knock on my door without enthusiasm or open arms.

From here I spend the afternoon in bed watching the second series of The Inbetweeners often holding my stomach for laughing out loud.  This is truly clever stuff, so crisp and insightful.  If only my teenage years could have been so good.  I have to concede to nodding off a couple of times but that is due to my own exhaustion rather than the quality of the source material.  It’s also very funny to spot Waen Shepherd pop up in the first episode playing a truly creepy role.

I emerge around 4PM to discover that somewhere down the line Portsmouth tonked Southampton 4-1.  Elsewhere Millwall have Exeter at home today.  Neil Harris scores ten minutes from time to snag a 1-0 win and their five consecutive win.  Suffer.

As I resume writing I tear into it with abundance and manage to build up some kind of momentum and productivity.

On ITV the second FA Cup game of the day arrives in the form of Man City v Stoke City, which barely causes me to raise my head up/away from my PC.  Shaun Wright-Phillips scores to give Man City the lead and when he does so he looks like a miniature version of Beverly Hills Cop.  Later Stoke score an equaliser and nobody cares outside of that part of the world.

During Harry Hill Nina begins texting me.  Today she had a job interview in London and it seems she wants to talk about it.  We arrange to go out into town for drinks.  I ensure that I finish watching Harry Hill first though, which pays off as Danny Baker turns up at the end playing the accordion and singing Cheryl Cole.

I leave to pick Nina up around 8.10PM.  As I leave my flat it is to the discovery that the yoghurt lid has finally been picked up.  WIN.  The wasabi sachet however remains.  FAIL.

Tonight I can’t be bothered to drink so I’m happy to drive.  We park up at Balkerne Heights which yet again resembles the newest free parking lot in Colchester.  The horse has truly bolted on this issue.  The cars are now even sprayed over the unnecessary speed bumps which with every rumble I am sure is slightly damaging my car every time that I go over them.

Initially Nina and I head to The Bull.  With Tim Vine in town tonight and it being Valentine’s weekend it would appear that none of the usual suspects are out.

We have a state of the nation type discussion.  It is dry and low on laughs.  As things begin to turn Logan’s Run and the pub fills up with desperate old people aching for a good time we head to the Hospital Arms, as if that clientele is going to be any younger.

With a lack of seats and her wanting to smoke we wind up sat outside in the dark.  In the end though it actually isn’t too bad.

I don’t think I have ever managed to have as such a long conversation with her before.  With her getting a dog I think that has made her feel broody as I hear things I have never heard before.  We then get onto the subject of relationships and she states how she has gone out with so many nightmares.  I think this was noted by most of us onlookers at the times of occurrence.  Perhaps this means she realises the errors of her ways back in 2000 now when on the rebound she chose Stan over myself.  My god, was that really ten years ago now?

From here we move on to discussing absent Colchester types.  Despite our adult themed conversation and supposed grown up perspective it does feel like we are scraping the social barrel but at this same time without much effort the realities of old acquaintances are all too easy to belittle.  It turns out that Mrs Melchet has apparently gone mad.  I guess running someone over while driving on the wrong side without explanation (apparently) will do that.  Likewise she tells me how Cockblock is a “funny one” and she ups the stakes by stating that he is obviously gay.  Perhaps.

Then we get onto me.  She asks me about relationships and how I “always seem to have someone knocking around.”  Not this year and not that they ever go anywhere.  Ouch, this is a conversation with the only person I ever told I loved; I don’t think I even told Bella that I loved her.  No my experiences of chancing my arm that one time exhibited just how the gesture is the kiss of death.  I tell her about the smiling lady on Wednesday night and how I was too shit scared to approach.  She moans at me about this.

With the night heading towards 11PM we call a close on proceedings and call it a night.  I drive her home before nodding off back in my flat attempting to watch the laboured Baby Mama (a movie with a great cast but nothing going on unfortunately).

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