Sunday 22 March 2009
Mother’s Day. Some kind of occasion. Wow, there is really nothing to report from/for this morning. After such a disturbed and restless night when I awaken at the rare hour of after 9AM for me and I only want to remain. Outside the sun is in full flow but it fails to inspire me into action.
After three failed attempts I finally watch the remainder of last week’s Saturday Night Live hosted by Tracy Morgan. This guy is a revelation to me why have I not heard of him sooner? He possesses this natural dumb shouting voice that verges on camp and rules hilarious without even trying. From this performance you get the impression that he really is close to his character on 30 Rock which makes for an exciting, dangerous and most importantly sincere proposition made all the more believable by his faubles.
Other than that, I accomplish very little before midday, scraping a little unsatisfying writing in the process. I do catch the final two episodes of season two of Californication which are great despite the series’ overriding set of clichés.
Just before heading out to a Mother’s Day lunch at the Chinese buffet I send Szesze a text message saying “happy Mother’s Day, are you doing anything nice?” She never replies. The women in my life, aloof to their deaths.
I almost manage to get to my parents’ for 1PM but I’m close enough to keep the peace. As a unit we head over to the House Of China for lunch instead of trying out the new place. Like an idiot I had a late breakfast at 11AM and so say I am not hungry as we head there would be an understatement.
Inside the restaurant two girls are giggling at each other loudly. I know I shouldn’t be bothered by them but I am. And this despite the fact that none of the apparent hilarity is aimed in my or our direction, so its not even through paranoia they annoy (disgust) me. One does have three stars tattooed behind her right ear, so she is probably not a cancer cure.
While browsing my Twitter during the “meal” I discover that I am royally out of the loop when I read on Stephen Fry’s Twitter that Jade Goody has died. I wasn’t a fan and became even less of one with the recent footage born by Max Clifford made her into some kind of martyr.
As I watch the loud girls become even louder I feel it is a fitting tribute to the real legacy of Jade when I watch the pair of them look down each other’s trousers to see where their fanny hair begins it would seem. I can’t help but feel it is thanks to such inhibited social pioneers such as the generation of Jade that they feel they can do such things in public (pubic).
Turning away from the sight before I catch a glimpse of chav minge I notice that to my right the table has been reserved. Who the fuck reserves a table at a Chinese buffet? This also has Goody written all over it.
After the meal I head into town to go shopping. Today is the first day this year that I do need to wear my big coat – it’s a bonus.
At Waterstones I panic buy the copy of Breakfast Of Champions because it has the old cover that does not appear to be on the current printing of the book per the online stores and retailers. Next I buy an Observer and I still manage to beat the oldsters’ home.
Together the old man and I watch Liverpool v Aston Villa and I take zero joy from the trouncing Liverpool deals out. The fact that they’re getting the run of the grass/field currently with dubious decisions galls me somewhat today. Ultimately it is more a case of Villa being bad rather than Liverpool being good, in my opinion.
Beyond this I linger around the olds before watching the beginning of I-Spy mainly for Famke Janssen who I have been a big fan of since Love & Sex with Jon Favreau. I-Spy is actually one of those DVDs I have knocking about at home somewhere still in shrinkwrap.
As the evening reaches its end I capture a view of my reflection in the window of my kitchen and it is a good one. In an open message to my absent friends right now, you should be with me. This moment is a rare peak in my morale and one you could enjoy.
Getting home I feel the need for a bath so I splash into one an hour after running it (with it still scolding hot).
Mother’s Day. Some kind of occasion. Wow, there is really nothing to report from/for this morning. After such a disturbed and restless night when I awaken at the rare hour of after 9AM for me and I only want to remain. Outside the sun is in full flow but it fails to inspire me into action.
After three failed attempts I finally watch the remainder of last week’s Saturday Night Live hosted by Tracy Morgan. This guy is a revelation to me why have I not heard of him sooner? He possesses this natural dumb shouting voice that verges on camp and rules hilarious without even trying. From this performance you get the impression that he really is close to his character on 30 Rock which makes for an exciting, dangerous and most importantly sincere proposition made all the more believable by his faubles.
Other than that, I accomplish very little before midday, scraping a little unsatisfying writing in the process. I do catch the final two episodes of season two of Californication which are great despite the series’ overriding set of clichés.
Just before heading out to a Mother’s Day lunch at the Chinese buffet I send Szesze a text message saying “happy Mother’s Day, are you doing anything nice?” She never replies. The women in my life, aloof to their deaths.
I almost manage to get to my parents’ for 1PM but I’m close enough to keep the peace. As a unit we head over to the House Of China for lunch instead of trying out the new place. Like an idiot I had a late breakfast at 11AM and so say I am not hungry as we head there would be an understatement.
Inside the restaurant two girls are giggling at each other loudly. I know I shouldn’t be bothered by them but I am. And this despite the fact that none of the apparent hilarity is aimed in my or our direction, so its not even through paranoia they annoy (disgust) me. One does have three stars tattooed behind her right ear, so she is probably not a cancer cure.
While browsing my Twitter during the “meal” I discover that I am royally out of the loop when I read on Stephen Fry’s Twitter that Jade Goody has died. I wasn’t a fan and became even less of one with the recent footage born by Max Clifford made her into some kind of martyr.
As I watch the loud girls become even louder I feel it is a fitting tribute to the real legacy of Jade when I watch the pair of them look down each other’s trousers to see where their fanny hair begins it would seem. I can’t help but feel it is thanks to such inhibited social pioneers such as the generation of Jade that they feel they can do such things in public (pubic).
Turning away from the sight before I catch a glimpse of chav minge I notice that to my right the table has been reserved. Who the fuck reserves a table at a Chinese buffet? This also has Goody written all over it.
After the meal I head into town to go shopping. Today is the first day this year that I do need to wear my big coat – it’s a bonus.
At Waterstones I panic buy the copy of Breakfast Of Champions because it has the old cover that does not appear to be on the current printing of the book per the online stores and retailers. Next I buy an Observer and I still manage to beat the oldsters’ home.
Together the old man and I watch Liverpool v Aston Villa and I take zero joy from the trouncing Liverpool deals out. The fact that they’re getting the run of the grass/field currently with dubious decisions galls me somewhat today. Ultimately it is more a case of Villa being bad rather than Liverpool being good, in my opinion.
Beyond this I linger around the olds before watching the beginning of I-Spy mainly for Famke Janssen who I have been a big fan of since Love & Sex with Jon Favreau. I-Spy is actually one of those DVDs I have knocking about at home somewhere still in shrinkwrap.
As the evening reaches its end I capture a view of my reflection in the window of my kitchen and it is a good one. In an open message to my absent friends right now, you should be with me. This moment is a rare peak in my morale and one you could enjoy.
Getting home I feel the need for a bath so I splash into one an hour after running it (with it still scolding hot).
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