Saturday, June 19, 2010

Saturday 19 June 2010 – WORLD CUP DAY NINE

Waking up at 3AM in the morning I always going to be less than ideal regardless of your walk of life.  When my alarm clock buzzes it is still dark outside as my TV remains on having been left overnight where BBC4 currently shows some kind of classical concert.

In something of a mutated haze I slowly gather myself, naturally doing so by scanning over the internet.  On a Facebook status by Matthew Crosby I spot reference to On The Buses which naturally I take the opportunity to leave the response “I ‘ate you Butler.”  Then before I know it Matthew has texted asking me “Do you ever sleep?  You seem poised at all times to make a cultural reference”.  From here I point out the fool’s errand of ferrying my parents to Stansted at an ungodly hour.

As I exit our building I notice that a car parked in a visitor’s spot has been clamped.  Looking around at the car park it is hardly bulging and seems quite a strange decision to be out clamping at this time (especially considering the junker that set out to spoil my Easter by sitting in my space all weekend).  There will be blood.

On time I arrive at my parents at 3.30AM to ferry them to Stansted as they fly off to Ibiza.  It’s actually a pretty miserable experience, this is not an hour to be functioning in, the world is asleep right now for a reason.

The drive to Stansted is always a flat one, once off the A12 for a far too long time it feels like the back roads as single carriage roads are surrounded by villages and fields and if you get stuck behind a slowcoach (as with this morning) you are stuck behind that fucker for quite some time.  With this gradually cars will begin to pile up and resemble some kind of frustrating convoy.

Thankfully the roads eventually turn back into dual carriageway at which point it is able to pull away from all the stragglers and build up speed once more.  Soon we get to the airport and I am dropping my parents off for their holiday in the rave capital.

From here I turn round and head back to Colchester in the hope of returning home before the day breaks and it becomes too bright to resume slumber.

In the end I arrive back just before 5AM.  By this point the sun is beginning to rise and I can’t help but think my 3.30AM to 5AM foray cannot help but appear suspicious to any neighbours that notice/hear it.

To get to sleep I listen to the latest World Cup podcasts with view to catching up on events.  Eventually I manage to nod off only to reawaken just after 8AM without necessarily gained much rest in the process.  Fail.

At 9AM the Danny Baker show from South Africa arrives on Radio Five which is a very good two hour method of entering this Saturday.

Eventually the post arrives and with it the Millwall shirt that I order for dad for Father’s Day tomorrow.  Too late.

After the Danny Baker show Mayo And Kermode take up their new World Cup Saturday morning slot for their film review show.  Why haven’t I got into this sooner, these guys are amazing (with Mark Kermode this was never in doubt).  Today Kermode tears MacGruber a new arsehole and moans about SNL in the process, belittling pretty much every spin-off movie that has come from the show.  By association includes the amazing Ladies Man, Coneheads, Stuart Saves His Family and my personal favourite It’s Pat.  These are all movies I am sure he hates; the rest of the world seems to.

Eventually when the show ends I pick myself up for the Saturday newspaper run, sluggishly pull myself together and head to Tesco at Highwoods (the marginally nicer of the two stores in Colchester).  Almost immediately upon stepping inside the store it becomes apparent that this decision was a mistake and that I am not up to the task.

Daunted I take the bull by the horns and attempt my shopping, completing the necessary newspaper run and buying some equally necessary treats for lunch.  Today I have a real jones on for a big fuck off baguette filled with spicy meat and cheese slices.  With this desire in mind I get my wish as Tesco impressively caters my needs.  All these things under one roof, go fucking figure.

From here I drive home listening to the football on the radio which makes things sound like a golden age.  The first game today is Holland v Japan, a fixture where no surprises are expected or desired.

When I get back I make said sandwich and it tastes if it were made by the gods.  This goes far beyond Subway.

I resume watching the game which eventually sees the Dutch winning their second match of the tournament although Japan prove far from pushovers.

The second game of the day is Ghana v Australia which looks a no-brainer after Australia were so bad against Germany on Sunday.  And their national anthem sounds like a drunk version of the American one.  However against such form they manage to take the lead on 11 minutes as Brett Holman scores from a comedy bobble rebound by the unfortunate Ghana goalkeeper.  Later however Ghana press forward and win a penalty from a Kewell handball who himself now gets sent off.  With this Gyan takes the spot kick and equalizes but into the second half they fail to capitalise on their advantage and eventually the game ends at 1-1 with both sides remaining in the tournament by a cunt’s hair.

After the game I come across Say Anything on Film4 and I’m not sure if I ever saw this movie in the first place.  I persist with it, not least for the performance of Lili Taylor which resonates and rings bells with me.  On that note halfway through the movie and halfway through writing there is another knock on my door which I once more proceed to ignore.  Then a few seconds later the person (whoever) is suddenly downstairs ringing my entryphone buzzer.  It must be serious.  However I don’t want anything to do with my neighbours right now at this time.

Tonight I find myself invited to the Colchester Arts Centre for an event and piece of performance art by a guy called FRANKO B.  For the longest time I flip flop on whether to go or not but when Doug texts to see if I am heading along I decide to make the effort.

We meet up in the Hole where everyone else in conspicuous by their absence.  Again as I buy a drink at the bar I get a smile – is this a sign of rejuvenation by beard?

Eventually we head over to the Arts Centre where we meet up with Lee and stagger into the entrance which is apparently the “holding area”.

When we finally get led into the main space we find ourselves confronted by the sight of a naked fat man covered in tattoos with a Prince Albert swinging on a golden swing set while a lady accompanies playing a piece on piano.  This is the world of FRANKO B.

Dare I suggest with the right trust fund and the wrong mental illness anybody could do this.  I derive no emotion from this experience just annoyance.  This piece was supposed to be fourteen minutes but it overruns.  It does however make many people impressively awkward.

By the time the moment passes the Cameroon v Denmark game is all but gone so instead Doug, Lee and I head down the pub for a Saturday night drink.  Surprisingly with no televisions showing the football the place is surprisingly packed, do these people not know a world event is currently taking place?  In the end it is a cheeky beer that doesn’t really go anywhere.

When I eventually get home I catch the highlights (after enduring James Corden).  The impression I get is that I have missed out on a good one.  I am surprised to learn that Cameroon has bounced out of the tournament losing 2-1 to Denmark.  When Samuel Eto’o gave Cameroon the lead after 10 minutes it amuses no end that I learned this fact from an exuberant Twitter posting by Chad Ochocinco.  When I actually see the goal it comes from a classic defensive foul up from the Danish.  In contrast the two Denmark goals turn out to be skilfully taken/finished efforts from Bendtner and Rommedahl.

Then I pass out.

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