Sunday, May 30, 2010


Sunday 30 May 2010

Today is one of those days where I awaken from slumber with an uncomfortable headache after sleeping in my bed upside down last night.  What am I, a fucking vampire?

The time is 8.20AM which makes sense considering that I was still awake well into the hour of 4AM this morning.  It’s always painful to be stirring at such hours.

Eventually I flip on the TV at 8.30AM to receive the news.  There is nothing exciting occurring in the world right now.

On cue I shuffle into watching Andrew Marr which is gargled and uninforming but does at least lend coverage to the latest production of an Arthur Miller play before ending with a clip in tribute to Dennis Hopper.

As I wrestle with my now full malfunctioning PC depressingly and predictably I wind up with The Big Questions on TV as Nicky Campbell does his weekly sick PT Barnum crossed with Nazi like spiel accompanied by more inane rhetorical questions and this weeks religion crazed individually, this week being a hyper homophobic Muslim which can only ever serve to etch out distaste towards people of the faith.  This is subtly incendiary television subconsciously promoting hatred towards anyone and any creed opening their mouth.  This show seldom contains moderate and normal people with such opinions, its all knee-jerk and with a better dressed Jeremy Kyle mentality.

When I eventually wind up on Something For The Weekend within seconds the bag lady Redknapp is doing a link where she pronounces heiress as “hairess” and Adrien Brody as “Adrian Broody.”  With this kind of media being thrown at us the human race is doomed.  Idiocracy is now.

Not long after this I finally pronounce my PC dead.  I’m pretty sure that it is the videocard that has gone but I can’t be bothered to leave the flat today.

Later as I watch Alastair Campbell on TV do readings from his book then get interviewed, somewhere in the distance some arsehole begins blasting out “Live To Tell” by Madonna at really antisocial levels.  This lasts for some time as the Madonna Greatest Hits gets wheeled out at high volume well past midday.  And my managing agents (whatever name they are using this week) are chasing me for fucking money?

At 12.19PM it mutates into Dido and the mediocre minds favourite.  Truly why must other people enforce their own personal hell and turmoil onto society?  It isn’t so much the sound (the thumping bass) that annoys me it is more that a person’s method of self-expression is so dumb and depressing.  This is the how the powers that be run riot over the world because lazy minds convince themselves that these forced and manufactured messages are accessible and real, that they are joining emotional states and that the words of Dido and Madonna just might act/serve as some psychological bridge to wealth and greatness, physically and spiritually.  If those guys can find fame this way then just maybe the listener might find some too.

Fucking die you fucking idiots and turn your stereo off before you do so.

At 12.44PM Michael Jackson arrives with “Beat It” and the licks of Eddie Van Halen rock our building and my frail temperament.  By this point I have thrown a bottle out into our garden in the hope that it smashes but no joy.  Suddenly I feel like the guy from Driller Killer than it unable to get any peace.  Suddenly I feel that this bank holiday weekend isn’t going to be so great after all.

I end up selecting the loudest, most obnoxious music at my disposal (a split seven inch with The Locust and Arab On Radar) and I play it at the noisiest level I find personally acceptable.  As the dust settles and it concludes there appears peace from down below.  The pop shit has now gone.  Did my futile gesture work and make my point?  I genuinely would be surprised.

By now the football has started on TV with England playing against Japan in Austria.  It’s a pretty decent team Fabio Capello is fielding, one that by rights should stuff Japan at this time even though Darren Bent is playing upfront.  There is no hope with that guy; anyone tarred with the Ipswich brush is doomed to fail.

After seven minutes Japan score with a great goal from a great move (from a corner).  I have to concede I actually cheer when it flies in and knocks David James on his arrogant arse.  A boring game remains this way until halftime.

At halftime the countless advertisements are all world cup related as the marketing men look to cash in.  The worst of these is the beer bellied John Barnes doing his New Order rap hawking Mars Bars to the public.  At least he looks like he uses/enjoys/indulges the product that he is placing.  Shame about the twat bouncing around behind him pretending to be Keith Allen circa twenty years ago.  Pretty pathetic.  New Order are cashing in.

The second half plays out just as lifeless as the first.  During the break Capello pulls off Bent and Tom Huddlestone, which you would expect, means they’ve had their lot for England with regards to this world cup.  Early in the half England get handed a penalty that Frank Lampard steps up and proceeds to miss in similar style to the FA Cup final.  Suddenly England do not necessarily look the side we are being sold by the experts.

In the end England tap into good fortune as Japan score two silly late own goals to give England a 2-1 win that is not necessarily deserved going by this performance.

From here I stagger into the afternoon writing and watching downloads.  Surely there must be something else to do on Sundays.  Eventually I begin watching The Day Of The Locust but soon I begin to nod off as my initial reaction is that the movie is unwatchable – Homer Simpson or no Homer Simpson.

Beyond this the day truly gets away from me and soon it has fallen into evening.  There is probably something on telly but I fail to remember/recall what as I slip back into genuine slumber.

I reawaken in the early hours in time to catch the repeat of the second episode of Money by Martin Amis starring Nick Frost.  Unsurprisingly it is clearer when watched sober.

No comments: