Sunday, April 25, 2010


Sunday 25 April 2010

Dream: it is a Saturday and I am in some kind of alternative version of Colchester that is similar to the version of the near future in the movie Children Of Men.  My parents and I are visiting my aunt and her family that now live slightly out of town in Monkwick on the way to Mersea.  They now all live together because times are hard.  There is something poor and retro about their homestead and tonight with our visit it looks like it is an important visit.  My cousin now has two grown sons and they are causing trouble.  As everybody heads off somewhere together I stick around and check out the small house.  It almost reminds me of a relative’s house from my youth, things have not progressed.  Outside it is a warm day and with this I head into town to check things out.  On this occasion Colchester now resembles a much more built up area.  More than ever the place looks more grotty as the centre now resembles some kind of half rate attempt at looking like Leicester Square on a smaller scale.  A lot of shops are now subtly pink.  I step into a shop that I believe sells movie memorabilia and it is something of a store dedicated to cult memorabilia in general.  At first it seems great but then the owner of the store appears to be too vocal in approaching customers, taking on some kind of consultant role.  Outside a protest is happening and suddenly it seems to be about this shop.  Things get weirder as some ageing fat guy (with a little moustache) begins asking the consultant about his masturbation problems.  He then wheels out a machine to help assist his problem and it is an old Atari 2600 with two joysticks either side to grab hold onto while a game of Pong plays out on a black and white screen.  This seems to disgust various patrons around me but as much as I am on the verge of being disgusted I am intrigued.  Next to me a lady makes vocal her anger at the guy bringing this out in public as she storms out of the shop.  Meanwhile outside now the protestors are doing some kind of performance or show and are asking people to through donations.  The protestors are plainly Muslim based, most likely regarding Israel as per last night.  They annoy me and I look around for something else to throw at them, a rock or something.  By now the afternoon is heading into evening and suddenly over a booming PA a robotic voice repeatedly orders people to leave the square.  Suddenly there is screaming and I head over to see what is going on.  As I do so I pass a closed up HMV, which has sign in the window saying “on Monday a customer was found dead in the toilet so we are remaining closed in respect to music.”  When I get to the square a mesh cage has suddenly formed and it is full of youngsters/teenagers who did not leave the square quick enough.  The huge tree in the square resembles the Dragon Tree that I once saw in Portugal when I was younger.  There is now a dark climate attached to proceedings as the sunny day is no more.  Some kind of smoke/fog goes over the day and turns it into night.  I run over to the cage to try and get a photo of it on my iPhone.  As I head over I overhear a woman complain “if they’re going to do this they’re never going to learn.”  When I get to the cage it has been opened and everyone is scurrying off.  It is perhaps a good thing because I sense I would have got into trouble for taking a picture of this thing.  I suspect my second cousins were in there.  I wake up.

I hate dreaming about dystopia, it means my day opens in nervous fashion.

Today I manage to squeeze in some second bouts of slumber and when I finally emerge (after the dream above) the time is 9.50AM, which represents my strongest lie in for a very long time.

Outside the day has turned drab.  The sun is gone and the clouds are grey.  In the distance it looks like the sun is trying to peak out but for now it’s a downbeat seachange.

I worry for today.  So much to do and so little time to do it.  And I have to make that phonecall today and again naturally I just am not in the mood to do it.

Elsewhere today is the London Marathon so all the usual annoying TV is diverted and dedicated to that.  A mixed blessing.  Uppity cunts such as Nicky Campbell, Tim Lovejoy and Baglady Redknapp get replaced by charity runners who are all just too bloody happy and satisfied with themselves.

From here the morning flies by as I stagger around trying to summon up some energy into writing in full knowledge that I am working against the clock as my contact lens check looms.

Eventually I head out, leaving the flat in a rush and a panic.  Typically the drive to town is arduous as Butt Road is systematically clogged for some reason.  When I arrive at my parents’ to park up typically there are no spaces.  And then as I enter my parents’ crib typically they are not home which only serves to fuck my plans up further.  All in all it’s just a typical day.

For this I have rushed my right contact lens into my eye and made a real hash in the process prompting it to weep profusely and make me look like I am crying in the capacity that I feel like.

Despite my appointment being 12.45PM by this point the time is arriving at 1PM as I finally step into town.  What is wrong with me, I never used to be late for things.  Traditionally I have always been punctual and it was the others that would be letting me down much to my chagrin.  It always gave me the opportunity to be judgemental and sanctimonious, it was a great thing.

The soundtrack for stepping up the pace is Muse-Sick-N-Hour-Mess-Age which remains a surprisingly decent and passable Public Enemy record considering it is relatively late period.  It has the beats and often that is all a person needs.

As I near Specsavers I spot Kandy Pants walking around town with her mother.  I am afraid to have her recognise me at this time.  I cannot believe it is now five years since we worked together.  My gut instinct is that her life has not moved forward one step, so how can she be happy?  How can she justify such an existence?  She will be 30 soon (if not already), is it really healthy for your mum to be your best friend?

When I eventually bowl into Specsavers it is with sporting a “fuck you” attitude as this appointment begins to represent a chore/task too far.  It is at this point I discover/realise that my appointment was in fact at 11.45AM.  With this comes blushes and a minor breakdown that I just cannot accommodate such appointments, my life is just too busy.

Thankfully the woman says that she can still fit me in but not for another 45 minutes so with this in mind I go for a wander.  As I step into WH Smith I bump into Dan from Dead Rat Orchestra and The Doomed Bird Of Providence.  From here we tear into a great conversation about music, all of which is good because he (and his bands) sound as if they are currently flying and I am genuinely happy and excited for him and the fact that something is actually happening in Colchester.

Afterwards I potter around HMV for a while before heading back.  HMV appears to be the only place in Colchester that you can buy CDs now and this miniscule monopoly truly is a depressing thing.  These are the end of times.

What is also noticeable about HMV is how they stack their books alphabetically by novel/book title.  Is that not the dumbest thing to ever happen with literature?

Eventually I step back into Specsavers where my contact lens test is OK, very routine and boring with no real change to my eyesight.  Instead of the usual scrawny guy I get a harsh looking woman treating my eyes who actually turns out to be a pretty nice and helpful lady.  Go figure.

With a new stock of contact lenses I stagger back to my parents slowly via Waterstones, Gap, TK Maxx etc, all the usual shitty chains that come with and inhabit faceless towns in the modern world.

In the process I notice people subtly lining the streets.  Ever curious I sniff around to see just what the impending attraction is.  Soon the noise happens and it turns out to be some kind of patriotic St George’s Day march/parade.  As soldiers turn into cub scouts suddenly it becomes apparent that they are cutting off my exit out of town, trapping me inside the shops.  From here I find myself looking to get to the back of the parade in order to round it.  Quite frankly now I know what it is like to be surrounded by the army in the Middle East.  The horror!

By the time I finally get back to my parents they have returned home and it is almost 3PM.  On Sky this afternoon is Chelsea v Stoke which sees everyone’s favourite London side run out 7-0 winners.

While Stoke go down like a lamb to the slaughter I take the opportunity to watch Oil City Confidential on iPlayer.  It is Essex through and through, not necessarily a part of Essex I am from but certainly containing elements of the coastal regions I am fairly familiar with.  Centring on Dr Feelgood there are links to Stiff Records which naturally tweaks my interest but ultimately the documentary makes a larger legend of an act that does not necessarily command such a legacy.  This however does not prevent it from being an entertaining watch.

Eventually the afternoon becomes early evening but with no Simpsons in the Simpsons slot (6PM Sunday) I again find myself watching the new version of V.

Misanthrope seeks misanthrope.

Not long after this and grabbing some dinner I head home where I continue to procrastinate about phoning the Craigslist lady but for fear of being a coward the rest of my life I make the call.

In the end the call turns out to be better than I was expecting.  Happily she (Sarah) is more receptive than I am used to from ladies and for once I feel that I am talking to a person making an effort.  Again she says things to suggest that she is out of my league (my cast) but I soldier on undaunted, at least I have stuff to report for my weekend.

She comes straight out and asks me when my last relationship was, which is a very forward question to be asking.  Rather than responding “never” I remark about the messy manner in which 2008 ended and 2009 started with both Szesze and my American friend knocking around.  I even use my term “dating purgatory”.  I guess she is naturally guarded considering the weirdoes that frequent the Craigslist singles adverts.  I ask her if she has ever seen In Search Of A Midnight Kiss.  She hasn’t.  As I then make a clumsy description of the movie I think she suddenly begins to suspect my intentions are not genuine, instead based on that movie.  I really am my own worst enemy at times, communications is truly not my forte.

I manage to put my foot in it a few more times as I mention how I have not so many black people advertise on the Craigslist singles section.  Its not a gripe or criticism, just an observation I cannot she the reasoning behind.  A few hours later I will then remember that her dad is from Ghana.

Just over an hour later with my right ear burning from the radiation of my iPhone we call it a night.  When I say “I guess we should meet up now” I do so in a manner that causes her to say “you sound really enthusiastic” which is a comment I am luckily able to laugh off.

From here I head to bed and end the night while it still feels like a success.

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