Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Tuesday 11 May 2010

The alarm buzzes at 6AM per usual.  At this stage I am not even sure whether I actually bothered to set the alarm last night in the first place.

From here I stagger into Tuesday and debate what to do.  As I sleepwalk through the first half hour of GMTV I weigh up my options and the consequences.  These thirty minutes pretty much serve to sap any remaining will to live that I have left so I get up and send a 6.30AM text to my boss saying that I still do not feel good.

With this done I return to bed and resume sleep.  The dreams I experience at this point are terrifying and disturbing, almost psychedelic.  The most vivid dream involves some of my back teeth becoming loose and eventually falling out.  During the dream I can literally feel the sensation of them falling out and the remaining gap of gums in my mouth.  The fact that the posh boss is also in this dream only makes it worse.

When I reawaken I am suitably spooked by these dreams.  The time now is still early being around 7.30AM.  With this in mind I put on my Weekend At Bernie’s DVD.  I only watch so much before falling back to sleep where I find some relief.  When the movie finishes it reveals a menu screen looping the most excruciating of cheesy eighties pop reggae.  This song depresses me no end causing me to regret my viewing decision at this time.  Instead of just turning it off I put the screen on mute and roll back to sleep imagining/envisaging the number of calls and text messages arriving onto my phone from the office at this time.

Eventually I murmur into the day and once up I watch You Have Been Watching from a couple of weeks ago.  I have so much shit downloaded that I need to catch up on.  I feel consumed.

Afterwards I check out the Adam Boulton hissy fit at Alastair Campbell that everyone on Facebook is talking about.  I check it out on Youtube and it’s a pretty funny moment, Boulton really is a horrible Shrek of a man.  I remember when he used to be on breakfast television, he was a fucking state then too.

Mid morning I fire out an email to Mark to see if he fancies grabbing some lunch and soon he gets back to me in the affirmative, it’s a good plan.  Sick day is here to make the best of.

With nothing on I take the opportunity to have a long relaxing bath and it serves me well, refreshing and cleansing my soul, making me feel more human and happier to face to the world.  When I eventually emerge I pull myself together and head to town.

Lunch is set for 1PM and I get to my parents place in good time, snagging a visitors spot in the process.  As I look into their apartment I see the face of Bobby poking out of the window barking.

From here I step into their place where the dog jumps all over me before I quickly grab the parking permit and head towards the Hogshead (via the Lloyds cash machine).

Today I have a real jones for lasagne but in the end I opt for chicken burger with bacon and cheese as it suggests something more substantial.

Once conversation gets rolling Mark informs me of some bad news and unsurprisingly from here a sombre tone attaches itself to lunch.  It serves as a timely reminder of how modern life trivialises things too quickly these days and how when genuinely terrible things occur it is tough to know how to react.  Eventually conversation moves on but a sense of shock remains.  After we finish eating our food we cut proceedings short and head off in our respective directions.

I head back to my parents where the dog greets me with unbridled joy yet again.  If only I had such an effect on humans.  After explaining myself for not going into work today the old man begins telling me about “this strange film with Nicolas Cage in.”  He is telling me about The Wicker Man remake.  Swiftly I bring the movie up on Youtube where I find I am able to watch the ending of both movies and show dad the demise of Edward Woodward in addition to that of Nicolas Cage.  I cannot believe that my old man has never seen The Wicker Man (the original) ever before.

After the clip I bring up the Adam Boulton v Alastair Campbell spat on Sky as I proceed/continue to dazzle dad with the magic of Youtube.

I hang around their place until 4PM watching MTV Classic (or whatever it is called).  Due to me being part of the key demographic that appears to run and rule the media these days (a white person in my thirties) every video appears to be from the 90s and targeted specifically at me.

As 4PM comes around I head to the train station and board a train headed to London even though ideally such a trip would have been avoided.  Quickly it gets to Liverpool Street where I get to Waterloo and the South Bank in very good time where I head straight to the BFI to collect my ticket for THE BIRDS.  Additionally I have a spare ticket for the TIPPI HEDREN event to offload but nobody is interested when I approach the returns queue, those guys just want to see THE BIRDS.  In the end there are no takers for my ticket just a hostile response from a group of hostile geeks so instead I just head straight into the cinema where I have a back row seat for the movie, on the way collecting a set of BFI notes for the movie.

With screen time approaching I eventually spot Eleanor and her sister taking their seats and happily she looks out for then spots me in the process.  A friendly face is distinctly appreciated at this time.

Unsurprisingly THE BIRDS is great fun to watch on the big screen, it is almost seamless and very fast paced for a two-hour film.  At times the audience laughs at the hammy (bad) acting and prolonged glances/pauses but it all serves to add to the movie rather than take from it.

It ends with the famous non-ending that I had completely forgotten about.  For some reason I thought the birds were attacking because the two lovebirds were being kept in the same cage but this is not a reason that is revealed.  Maybe I was thinking of The Swarm and why the bees were attacking.

Afterwards as we all shuffle out of the cinema in full knowledge that we will only be shuffled back inside within a few minutes.  During the wait I catch up with Eleanor and her sister and unfortunately one of the first things she says to me is “how did the date go?”  I just shrug and respond, “I messed it up”, which is something I do not necessarily believe.  To lighten the tone she then asks me if I have been able to offload my spare ticket and again I respond in the negative so I quickly head back to the desk where nobody is queuing to see TIPPI HEDREN, where still nobody wants the spare ticket.  What a waste.

 Soon we are returning into NFT1 where we collect more BFI notes and take our seats in anticipation of hearing from the apparent screen legend.  For a lady of her age TIPPI HEDREN looks surprisingly good as she trots out on stage and takes her seat looking out at the audience that has come to see her.  That said from certain angles she does look like an American equivalent of Honor Blackman, which is not so good.

As she begins speaking she sounds very game but also a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to the British sense of humour and irony, which causes a few scowled reactions from her at the interviewer.

The reality is that her career was something of a non-starter.  As I suspected she only really made THE BIRDS.  Of course there was Marnie but beyond that she did very little.

Tonight I learn more about Hitchcock and the way that he worked but at the same time it is a version of events delivered via TIPPI HEDREN who would like you to believe that her career was stunted more by his interference than her lack of talent.

Before long it becomes apparent that there is a slight hidden agenda to proceedings as she begins talking about her wildlife sanctuary (her passion) for big cats.  With this the event cuts to an embarrassing and excruciating music video of her at work with her hobby by an artist who’s CD will be available in the lobby.

After this the event meshes into some kind of blur.  A few questions are thrown in from the audience, none of which are over illuminating in either enquiry or response.

By this point my attention/concentration has now been drawn towards a lady a few rows down shuffling in her seat.  She appears to possess the most amazing legs.

Eventually the event draws to a close and with it comes a sense of relief.  From here I storm back to Waterloo and rush to Liverpool Street in order to get home as soon as possible and return to the safe haven of Colchester.

I get there eventually.

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