Friday, August 06, 2010

Friday 6 August 2010

Dream: I am hanging around an alternate universe version of Colchester.  With this I find myself looking for faces from my past with a resounding lack of fruition.

Again today I wake up not knowing what time it is while outside the day has a head start on being sunny and summery.  This feels a delicate fraction.  I’m relatively OK moving this morning.  The world feels like autumn and this is always going to give me a boost.

Around 6.30AM I hear 15 Hollytree Court head off.  I wonder if she is nursing a hangover or is deaf as she slams doors behind her.  To her rare credit I spot that she is carrying a black bag to the bins.  Unfortunately as I exit my flat the landing of our building stinks from the bag having been sat there all night.  Fucking bitch.

Today as I pass through Balkerne Hill and under the bridge I swear that I spot two policemen talking to a man stood in a wheelie bin in the middle of the bridge.  What on earth is this about?  That would be such an undignified manner with which to commit suicide.  Is that really what he is playing at?  Or is it a stag prank being called to task?  Is this poor bastard about to get hitched mere hours after being dragged from a bin Oscar The Grouch style?  Or ultimately is it just an optical illusion due to my view of the incident lasting a mere split second?  Was it even there?  Did I will it into existence?  Did I imagine it?

Despite this playing on my mind I eventually manage to get on a train and as I board the carriage on the floor there is an orange blob.  Did someone spontaneously combust here earlier?

When she boards at Witham today Stare Girl decides to sit opposite me.  As she takes her seat she flaps me with her hair and it/she smells amazing.  Did she do this on purpose as some kind of flirtatious gesture?  I doubt it.

The sun remains out as we head into London, all of which equates to the day housing promise ahead.  These are the good times.

Soon I find myself on a tube wheeling across town to Baker Street.  When I change lines onto the Jubilee Lane I find myself being starred at by a late period Peter Cook lookalike.  Is this a ghost?

Before I get my answer I am stepping into work where people are currently calling me “Jase” – I guess I am in people’s good books right now.

Today turns out to be a distracted and disrupted day.  I have a pretty lengthy to do list and by the time we reach midday I am indeed halfway through it but there is still a long way to go if I am going to complete it by day out.

Annoyingly due to The Girl distracting me I fuck up the petty cash reconciliation which serves as a stall and by 5PM I have failed to accomplish my daily target.

Away from work in the afternoon I excitingly discover that James Ellroy is doing another book event.  Despite the disappointment of his last show (at the Southbank) I am royally up for going to this (subsequent talks and junkets heard on podcasts have returned my faith in him).

Once out of work I head down the Jubilee Line where I change at Green Park to join the Victoria Line with view to getting to Pimlico and eventually the Tate.

After a brief/short wait Justin soon arrives as we bask in the glory of Pimlico and how it doesn’t really look like London, its just too nice.  For me this is where Michelle lived and so does Sophie supposedly.  One a corporate whore and the other just a whore.

We stop and grab a quick drink in a busy and annoying pub, catching up all events since last Thursday.  Basically it sounds like we’ve both had mediocre days at work this week.

After one drink we head to Tate Britain where Arctic Circle is presenting it’s The Lovers, The Dreamers And Me event.  Almost immediately upon stepping through the entrance we see the contribution from Sone Institute which is a crazy set piece of analogue appreciation, a spinning crow and Wendy Craig.  This is the work of an adventurous mind.

From here we head further inside the Tate where we are soon faced by a couple of dangling full sized fighter planes.  The jets are the vision/work of Fiona Banner and are true pieces of work.  I can only imagine the time and expense that has been put into these creations and there sheer logistical nightmare that it would have been to put the things in the gallery.

Eventually we bump into familiar faces, some friendly some frosty.  The organiser of the event is dressed like a cross between Dr Who (Tom Baker era) and Paddington Bear.  It’s very.

From here we head downstairs where a playing area has been set up for PADDY STEER.  Not long after we step down there Mark from Doomed Bird Of Providence arrives and we have a scene.

Wearing a weird big green pod head with flashing lights PADDY STEER produces a resoundingly unique sound from a host of homemade and retro instruments going through a laptop.  It is a real clash of styles and genres as the beat prevails, running through and holding the procession together as one.  As the set zaps with pulsing rhythm it ultimately proves part Lalo Schifrin part Ross Geller as a steel drum serves to add a Caribbean feel.  Hats off to the guy for his mere efforts in performing from the confines of his pod head.

When he finishes his set he removes his helmet to reveal one hell of a beard.  Was it there at the start of the set?  It all reminds me of how the astronauts emerge at the beginning of Planet Of The Apes.

Beyond this we resume our confab as Mark and I discuss what music we are currently listening to which invariably leads to reminiscing about early 90s music and culminates in discussing the Cosmic Psychos.  On an Aussie flavour he also sets about trying to convince me that Prisoner Cell Block H was a credible piece of work.

Soon Justin has to head back to Manchester while Mark and I continue to talk 90s rock non-stop before realising what the time is.  With PADDY STEER beginning a second set in the background we head off back to Pimlico station and back home.

After changing at Oxford Circus I am find myself soon heading across the Central Line to Liverpool Street and on a train home.  With the night being at a decent hour this truly suits me.

When I get home it is to the latest Big Brother eviction which sees the likeable Scouse girl going (I’ve forgotten her name).  This is tiring stuff this year.

The end.

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