Saturday, March 06, 2010


Saturday 6 March 2010

This morning I wake up at 7.45AM, which is far too early considering how late/early I got in and that it is a Saturday.  There is an ever so tiny headache attached to the back of my head and even worse a really nasty knot now at the top of my back.  Did I sleep on top of something last night?  I look around and find an orange juice bottle/carton in my bed but I don’t think that was it.

I’m flipping a coin today as to whether go get my haircut.  I guess I should really make the effort to at least try and look my best.  These things aren’t easy though as movement at this hour really is not recommended, without doubt I will yearning sleep later on and if I am to be dragged back up to London and Camden again this evening for more electronica all signs point to exhaustion.

With a heave I get out of bed and remember the huge pile of packages sat by my front door the postman delivered yesterday.  This is the largest haul yet, eight brown envelopes of CDs and DVDs, this is just plain wrong.  I worry that my obsession has overtaken me now that retail therapy really is all that I have in order to keep me happy.  Half excited and half with shame I scoop them up.  There is also my ticket to Dinosaur Jr and Built To Spill on 18 May which is a timely remember of how I fucked up yesterday and bought a ticket to see Andy Zaltzman on that date also.  There’s another thing added to my list of things to do.

As I sit down and take stock of the envelopes it occurs to me how opening them resembles some kind of grey/brown Christmas moment for me.  Perhaps this is the key to the purchases, it is my desire to regain those youthful moments of joy where I would open my gifts with glee and no guilt.

Thankfully from a financial perspective most of the items only cost around the £2 mark with five DVDs all culled from the Play.com clearance sale (including three baseball history DVDs, when the fuck will ever find time to watch these?).  Elsewhere the two CDs are also ones that were budget priced, a Lenny Bruce CD and a Schoolly D CD neither of which anyone else in the world probably wants to listen to right now (and I half suspect neither do I).

With the morning arriving at 8.30AM I decide heading to get my haircut is the right way and I pull myself together and get dressed with movements and gestures towards hopping in the car.

Before driving down to Clacton/Holland I have to first put petrol in my car.  Really is nobody else pissed off about having to pay 111.9p for a litre of the shitty Asda petrol?  I cannot believe the shit we take in this country and the way in which we lie down for it.  I swear petrol wasn’t anywhere near this price when it all kicked off in 2000 and for a brief moment due to the strikes the lack of fuel at the pumps made things very briefly feel like the beginnings of Mad Max were happening now.

From here though I head down to Clacton and Holland On Sea with a sense of frolic and joy at being able to tear open my car for a change.  The drive to the coast is always a speedy one only held up by idiots on the roads keeping to the speed limits.

Yet again today when I arrive at Colin’s I step through the door to a bare shop, almost stepping right into the chair for a cut.  As conversation begins to flow (not via me) it turns out that Denzil has recently been in the shop.  In connection with this I have two great Only Fools And Horses anecdotes but for some reason I just don’t tell/say them despite the huge gaping opportunity to drop them in.  Am I really going to be this shy and antisocial for the rest of my life now?

The cut turns out to be a quick one, professional and swift.  I wind up getting into conversation about commuting and catching the trains daily at which point Colin serves up a story about jumping out of the train on the wrong side and falling down onto the tracks.  Quite frankly it sounds like a miracle that he wasn’t killed.

Afterwards I toy with the idea of checking out Clacton Common to see what state it is in but to be honest I have better things to do and I’m really not in the mood, I am already feeling down enough without revisiting an area of such failure.

From here I tear back up to Colchester where I stop by Asda on the way home and do the shopping thing relatively successfully this week.  As ever by the time it gets to the checkout task I perform it coyly, disguising my purchases as if under the spotlight and scrutiny of some creepy Channel Four health show where they make you walk around naked in front of the camera before inspecting your poo.  What has happened to society and television?

It is past 11AM by the time I get home and already I feel like I have done enough to constitute/justify my day.  With this being the time I endeavour to begin writing acknowledging that almost half the day has already gone.

Today I appear to have some kind of strange backache.  Just what was I up to last night?

Early into the afternoon I head back to bed where I watch the Joy Division documentary which delivers on all levels and proves several times more satisfying than the Control movie ever did (that was a huge disappointment painfully dumping so much dirge and grey onto the listener that it made it impossible to feel convinced by).

After the DVD finishes as I potter with my new player I discover that it plays avi files, which promptly sees me dusting off old CDRs containing little files from the early days of internet porn.  It is almost funny looking at old ten to thirty second clips of smut in the worst pixel quality imaginable.  Those must have been confusing times.

Once bored of these rubbish discs I head back to my writing perch facing this computer.  From here news filters through that Millwall are choking at Walsall when the table really suggests that we should be strolling through this fixture.  In the end after trailing 2-0 after 27 minutes eventually Alan Dunne scores an equalizer three minutes into injury time.  Playing to the death, that is what is going to get Millwall promoted.

From here the second FA Cup game of the weekend hits ITV and its Fulham v Spurs.  Blah blah blah.  I barely peak at it.

I write into the evening but unfortunately don’t really accomplish much.

Tonight is Las Vegas night on BBC2 with it comes a fascinating documentary about the history of the place during which I fall asleep.  So fascinating.

No comments: