Sunday, April 18, 2010


Sunday 18 April 2010

With the two standard Saturday night sleep pattern disruptions last night today I find myself emerging into the day just before 9AM with a well wish for existence.

Outside it is another glorious morning and Sunday has now arrived flexing its muscles it would seem.  I can’t help but feel after the comfortable summer that was last year, this year is going to be hard work in comparison.

From the off there is a dank heaviness in the air.  Straight away this makes me feel uncomfortable in my own skin and unhappy with my lot.  I try to overcome it as best as possible, soon getting moving with the day but ultimately I am just not feeling it.

As ever with my Sunday morning invariably Something For The Weekend arrives on my screen and with it the bag lady is missing again this week.  I would like to think that this is due to her being hungover and unable to move for being caked in sick but more I suspect it is due to her being on another package holiday with her blue eyed boyfriend, the robot that talks about football on Sky.

Due to this distraction I fuck up and mix up the times of the Andrew Marr Show meaning when I finally flip it on he is at the arse end of an interview with PJ Harvey.  She basically looks batshit crazy with her hair high in the air and her garment cover in black feathers.  Is she hoping to become Tim Burton’s future wife?  Unfortunately I do not see enough to find out.  From here I find myself questioning why she is on this show (does she have a new record out?) just as Gordon Brown gets wheeled.  The poor fucker lumbers on, lumbers through the line of questioning as you begin to suspect and feel now that everyone is trying to be Paxman and unnecessarily unhelpful and disrespectful.  I’m finally warming to Brown now although he needs to show more humility.  By nature he is resembling a buffoon so in a way you suspect his best tactic right now might be to play this element up and rock the Boris vote.  If it fails to win him the election he might get to become Mayor Of London as a booby prize.  Seems he’s the type.

The show ends with PJ Harvey further embarrassing herself with some ridiculous song played on an accordion as an insane vocal sampling plays out in the background which she valiantly dominates and beats down.  Shame the rest of the song is so shockingly shit.  What happened to her?  When did she become a professional weirdo?  My experience of/with ladies of Dorset is not a good one, suggesting that they go periodically crazy and clam up when proceedings become serious.  Or maybe that just counts for overweight women from Dorset.

From here I stagger towards my desk where I begin endeavouring to write.  I have still not even looked at the records I paid £41.42 for yesterday.  Does this resemble a lack of inclination and desire?

Writing comes slowly today.  Once more I am feeling distracted and I am trying to do too much in one swoop.

As per usual for a Sunday I wind up watching The Big Questions where there is some shouty women’s lib lady living the life of a stereotype.  Later the smarmy Nicky Campbell wheels out those two gay dudes that were recently denied stay at a God fearing bed and breakfast.  I have to say on first impressions I can see why they were turned away.  Its not because they’re homosexual its because they carry themselves like a pair of rude and uptight arseholes.  They moan how they were humiliated by the experience but one of the guys has what appears to be a swallow tattooed on his neck so you would be forgiven for suspecting the guy would have quite a high embarrassment threshold.  Just a thought.

After this I head to Sainsburys where The Independent today is giving away a free DVD of The Assassination Of Richard Nixon.  I remember when the BBC showed this movie on Good Friday two Easters ago and it had quite the effect on me, it is a pretty powerful movie with an exceptional performance from Sean Penn featuring the sad efforts of a man (Samuel Byck) for whom life just isn’t giving/lending him any breaks.  In a way it is similar to Taxi Driver, only without the happy ending.

I am hungry and in need of milk product and as I trolley along the aisles of Sainsburys I come across Starbucks in a can.  It is a beautiful thing, a gorgeous looking can promising that it holds true goodness inside.

When I return home I begin looking at my Record Store Day purchases again.  What the fuck was I thinking?  From here rather than listening to any of them I watch this week’s You Have Been Watching before getting back into writing until it comes time to leave for Sunday lunch.

As I leave just before 3PM I spot a Darius G Laws leaflet pinned to our notice board.  This is not a face that inspires confidence.

From here I get to my parents’ place in good time where as ever the dog goes crackers.  When I arrive on TV is Wigan v Arsenal where the London side are comfortable winning 2-0.  Surprisingly Arsenal choke in the most impressive manner as Wigan claw back two goals in quick succession before getting an inevitable injury time winner much to the visible chagrin and disgust of Arsene Wenger.  With the sun out, the grass so green and a cup final atmosphere if feels like a Wembley cup final ending.

Afterwards the second game on Sky is Portsmouth v Aston Villa.  This game does not really mean much now and thus is very much the spirit that it appears played in.  In the end Villa wins 2-1 after coming from behind, not that I actually bother to watch much of it.

Naturally beyond the football I linger around my parents’ place until teatime.  Scouring Sky in search of The Simpsons (no joy) I happen across the first episodes of the V remake on SyFy (when did the rebranding of this station go illiterate?)  It’s a weird remake, nothing really happens and ultimately it just looks like a crap glossy version of They Live.  I pick up on the possible digs at Obama that people have been suggesting but are people really going to go to such degrees to make their point?

Eventually I head home to another glum Sunday night.  Once back I plunder through the evening in anticipation/preparation of another tiring working week ahead.

I fall asleep just after 10PM before annoyingly waking up just after midnight.  This is a bad thing as it means I will not be able to resume slumber in a hurry.

Scanning the channels I come across an interesting drama on Channel Four called Pippy Hollywood.  It’s a grim and unglamorous account of mental health and how patients are dealt with while trying to assume some degree of a normal life and how people can fall into the system.  It turns out to be fascinating and depressing as naturally these things seldom end well.  Sometimes I can’t help but fear a few bad turns and decisions that this could wind up being me.  This is how my mind works when I am unable to sleep and awake in the early hours.

From here I then notice that The Sopranos is on at 2.45AM so I commit myself to staying awake to watch that.  I am my own worst enemy.

Between the two programmes I find myself scouring/trawling the internet for amusement and human contact.  I wind up on Craigslist where I come across an interesting personal advert that I reply to despite the early hour.

The episode of The Sopranos turns out to be the one where A.J. attempts to kill Junior.  Watching the episode tonight I feel I pick up on more aspects of the show than ever, which causes me some degree of concern and question whether I really understood the show first time around.  Regardless it is good to acknowledge that it is ageing well.

Watching the show it suddenly occurs to me that Channel Four is showing it without any advert breaks.  This was the way it was always supposed to be.

Eventually it ends and St Elsewhere arrives on screen.  By now the time is passing 4AM and remaining awake at this hour is feeling an incredible error.  Bloody insomnia.

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