Saturday, April 03, 2010


Saturday 3 April 2010

Despite the late night and early hours I still awaken around 8.30AM today, just like a fool.  What on earth was up with me last night?  I was even still awake when my neighbour trudged in at 3AM.

From here as per routine I head over to Asda just before 9AM where I find myself confronted by the usual shit.  This journey feels unnecessary today but I do it all the same.

Being the end of the month the new issue of Uncut is out and it features an old beardy photo of a young(ish) Neil Young on the cover.  Basically he looks like Wilfred on it, a dog.  It is also a Private Eye week so before I have even reached the food portion of my shopping I am already over £10.

I stagger around the aisles as usual trying not to make eye contact with anyone around me for fear that they might start on me.  Again I am buying fruit, bananas and apples but avoiding grapes today as they just don’t feel like value for money.

This week turns out to be a week where I spot The Crab.  I wonder if he recognises me the way that I recognise him.  His routine is almost as frightening as mine.

Annoying there is no Gherkin relish this week.  Where has it gone all of a sudden?  Was that bottle I bought a one off?  Is it a taste I am now never to sample ever again?

When I eventually reach the self service checkouts it is somewhat disheartening how the lady in charge of them recognises me and smiles in a warm gesture of acknowledgement.  I wonder if she thinks I am pathetic, the way that I trawl through this routine every Saturday morning, buying the same shitty products and never improving with/for it.  Maybe she pities.

Somehow despite buying next to fuck all my bill comes to £25.  I look back into my bag and there really is little in the way of food inside it.  Harsh times.

When I get back it is now well past 9AM and I need to get going on the day.  Danny Baker is not on the radio this week so I get a break from routine there and once I have packed my shopping away I soon find myself tearing into writing.

At 11AM I change stations and find myself listening to Adam Buxton and Liza Tarbuck who are in from Jonathan Ross on Radio 2.  That Tarbuck gene, always reminding me of Mr James.

Soon I find myself heading to the olds where today Manchester United are playing Chelsea on Sky in a game that will potentially decide this season’s Premier League.  As I leave my flat I bump into the neighbour from downstairs.  Last time I saw her she had bed head as I was attempting to kick our building’s front entrance door in the other Wednesday.  Again I apologise profusely, which prompts harsh words from her in the direction of my personal trainer neighbour.  As ever I’m too diplomatic, not getting as wound up externally as I do internally.  From here she begins telling me that I owe her an Easter egg.  Is this some kind of weird hybrid of flirting?

Around this point typically the personal trainer emerges from the building too, just as we are bemoaning her.  Were her ears burning?  As my other neighbour trots off into the distance with her dog I say “hi” to the personal trainer when really I would like to be pointing out to her that she is a “fucking cunt.”

Eventually I hit the road to Balkerne Heights and when I arrive at my parents place it is empty.  Did something happen I do not know about?  Even the dog is gone.  With their old neighbours heading along today I half suspect they have all gone out for lunch without inviting me.  Fiends.

Soon dad returns with the dog and it turns out that everyone hasn’t gone out with me after all.  Not long afterwards mum comes back from town and finally their old neighbours arrive.  I haven’t seen the wife for a couple of years now and it is really nice to have everyone back to how it used to be.

From here I head into town where I buy the new book about Chris Morris called Disgusting Bliss.  Once I open it up I find it a really interesting read and tonight I get halfway though it in one foul swoop.

Back at my parents I blag some dinner and while the world is watching the new Dr Who we find ourselves watching Cardiff v Swansea on Sky.  Well, its on in the background, I don’t think anyone outside of Wales is actually watching the game.  As a result for the life of me I couldn’t tell you the final score.

Afterwards as I scour the Sky channels I come across Broadway Danny Rose on TCM.  This is an amazing find, I love this movie.  I think this one of the movies where Woody Allen best balances slapstick and serious comedy.  In amongst all the silly stuff there are some truly gut wrenching moments as the lovable loser Danny Rose never appears able to catch a break while at the same time running into all kinds of trouble.  I watch the majority of the movie before realise that yet again I appear to be spending (wasting) my Saturday night at my parents’ home.

As I leave to head home around 8PM the parking situation at Balkerne Heights this evening is more obscene than ever.

When I get back to Bohemian Grove it is with the intention of writing.  Annoyingly as I pull into our complex there is a junker heap of a car parked in my space.  I seem to remember the almost exact same thing happening last Easter.

At 9PM Chris calls my iPhone but I ignore it, for me this is not a time to be heading out.

I continue writing until late when I head to bed and I strangely decide to watch the Frost/Nixon Watergate interview DVD that Lovefilm sent me.  It is awful.  The modern day introduction to screen by David Frost is so achingly cringe worthy, the guy is an idiot, Al Jazeera can fucking have him.

Needless to say the DVD quickly sends me to sleep.

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