Saturday, January 15, 2011

Saturday 15 January 2011

Saturday 15 January 2011

Dream: I am in a weird variation of what appears to be Manchester as Pauly shows us around and reveals secret places.  One such place is a knocking shop on the third floor of a building just down the street from the coast/beach.  As we arrive there the posh boss pops his head out of the window and invites us up.

Today despite my late return home this morning I still awaken around 8.20AM.  With this I am soon trawling over to Asda.  Really I need to be having a lie in but my body just does not work that way.

Again the Chinese section of the ethnic aisle rocks my world as this week I discover (and snag) Wasabi peas.  Yeah, that is what I need.  Soon after this I have raced around the store and done the deed as again today I avoid buying much in the way of actual food in preference to fizzy caffeine drinks.

When I get to the self service checkouts today it is that fucking weird woman tending to them again.  As ever she gawps at me with a mongoloid stare as I pray that I don’t require her assistance.  Alas annoyingly I eventually need her to authorise my Paracetamol.

Beyond this I waste no time in exiting the shop but the yellow fuel light on my car reminds that I need to get petrol.  This chore however is made somewhat more tricky of a task as at this exact moment a tanker is currently stocking up and pumping in more £1.25 petrol into the stores.  I wish I was joking/exaggerating that price.

When I finally get home I shrink early today when I realise that Monday is the 17th and the deadline date of the 21st is now explicitly looming.  Work is too demanding at the moment.

I continue attempting to spark life into my broken external drive today but seldom do I receive gesture anything on it is recoverable.  This is causing me an irrational degree of distress and discomfort, wasting so much of my time in the process.  The modern world is a shitty place; technology does not improve our lives, existence or experience.

After spending the second half of the week feeling minging I take the opportunity to have a long bath this morning with view to rejuvenation and revitalisation.  To some degree it works as I eventually pull myself together with view to seeing my parents and heading into town today (not least to check out the record fair).  Beyond briefly pottering around the flat I eventually head to my parents where upon arrival mum is typically out.

Not long after turning up I find myself heading into Colchester town centre on a Saturday afternoon, stepping into curmudgeon central.  This is a grime assortment of images at best.

Things do not go well as I head to where I think the record fair is happening only to find no sign of it when I arrive.  What is going on?  For a moment I give up on it but after interrogating my iPhone I discover that it is happening a long way from the town centre.  Undiscouraged I decide to still head over in the hope that it will hold riches.

A I walk towards the event I listen to episode 134 of WTF podcast where at the half hour stage a comedian called Bill Cosby-Bukowski makes an appearance on the show.  This turns out truly be the funniest thing I have heard in ages as the obvious combination of Bill Cosby crossed with Charles Bukowski talking about “Rudy’s titties” amongst other things goes beyond the pale.

Finally I get to the record fair.  In my big coat I almost feel like a narc after bootlegs.  Do people actually worry about them anymore in this day and age of everything being on the internet?  As I step inside the hall the guy that takes my entrance fee of 50p looks like Iggy Pop.  He scares me.  That’s how you sell records in 2011.  From here I hover over the record bins searching for amazing records at bargain prices.

I hate to admit that this feels like such a bygone pursuit now.  It feels kind of pathetic to encounter CDs that look tatty but are priced higher than their equivalent in Fopp.  Then additionally there are no bootlegs on show which all in all makes for an unsatisfactory and unrewarding experience.

Eventually I come across a couple of Sub Pop seven inches of songs that I love and never realised were released as singles.  They turn out not to be ridiculously priced so I snap them up just to have something to show from visit.

It is at around this point that Mark texts to see if I am about for a drink this afternoon.  Most definitely.  With this I finish up and back to my parents heading up East Hill and along the High Street.  It is as I pass JD Sports that I think I spot an old friend from school (a best friend) who I royally turned on.  If it is him he looks like he is doing badly although I am not quite convinced that it is him.  Then again he avoids my look (my acknowledgement) and in a way I am relieved, who needs to relive our respective (bad) school experiences.

Briefly I step back to my parents before finally meeting up with Mark.  Today I really don’t feel like going to the usual grotty grunge pub so out of morbid curiosity I suggest we try Edwards (scene of many memories for me) only to discover that it is gone and has been replaced by some kind of pink monstrosity, a weird looking wine bar.  It has an aura of pink and romance attached to it which prompts us to wisely avoid it at all cost.

In the end we wind up in the squaddie pub hiding in our customary corner.  As ever we discuss the usual, seemingly just happy to get out of the house.  His dad’s funeral is on Monday so naturally that hangs over conversation, occasionally figuring as part of the subject matter.  How on earth do you prepare for a thing such as that?  It’s a horrible thing.

Away from this our new favourite saying appears to suddenly be “citation needed”.  It’s the greatest gift to arguing and disagreeing about trivia.

Eventually we call it a day as we head off in our various directions in view of bagging some dinner at our respective parents’ homes.  In reality it is a little late for me to join in with the proper family dinner so upon arrival I have to hope that mum has done me a favour.  I get my wish.

From here I linger into early evening before going home to my flat for Saturday night.  In perhaps not the healthiest of moves I eventually find myself fall asleep to the sight of The Devil Wears Prada.  Life just got gay.

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