Saturday 7 March 2009
This morning everyone on the road appears to be driving like a tit and an arsehole. Nobody told me when indicating went out of fashion. Nobody told me that you were no longer allowed to drive slightly over the limit, instead now it appears that you have to drive two miles underneath the limit just in case the car behind you is able to get out of third gear and into fourth and begin to burn petrol at a cost crunch unfriendly rate.
Saturday mornings are becoming depressing for me. Why did I tap into the routine of the heading out to the supermarket at the crack of dawn just to buy the newspapers and get my groceries while I am at it? Having slept in my clothes yet again last night, my trampy appearance at this time is really not fine harvest for aisle flirting.
At one point however, was aisle flirting on the cards? I found myself exchange minimal glances with a crazy looking girl with flame red hair. She wasn’t gorgeous but she wasn’t ugly. I think the selling point was her bare legs. As she wore a mid length green coat there was no indication of her wearing any bottom halves underneath the hem of her coat – was she naked underneath there? It didn’t take long for my morning wood riddled imagination to conjure up this image.
After seeing the guy in our year at school that absolutely everybody bullied for the Nth week running jockeying his piss riddled career in loser retail I perform my weekly routine of scanning my groceries and having my card decline due the chip being next to scratched and NOT due to lack of funds.
As I do this suddenly I look over my shoulder and see the redhead. At this hour I cannot even squeeze out a smile, especially with my current beard having now reached grizzly stage. Part of me suspects also that if I were to do so she may blow her rape whistle. Quite possibly I just declined a/my/the soulmate.
Walking out of the entrance of Asda I find myself faced with the site of a squaddie riding an exercise bike like a machine asking consumers “are YOU feeling tired?” while he camouflaged mate wanders around banging a bucket for money/coins/change supposedly for charity. Are these also the people that make certain parts of town a no-go zone weekend nights? I have no charity.
Driving back home I find myself once more confronted by more evidence that it is “wanker behind a wheel day” as stupid is as stupid does occurs behind many wheels getting in my way. Of course my driving is perfection.
While back at home I find myself continuing my morbid curiosity as to find out just what was the final day of my involvement in/with Gringo Records and when I told Matt I had had enough. The three things I remember are that it was a Sunday, in November 2002 and after the call Very Bad Things was on Channel Four, which I watched while in tears. Perhaps worryingly I am probably able to trace the exact date by the reality that I hoard copies of The Guardian Guide and sure/soon enough I find out that the actual date was 17 November 2002. As I log the date in my mind it dawns on me that that was also the very same day that I was dismissed for gross misconduct by Beaumont Seymour for blogging while there. Talk about an unfortunate date. I then begin to research how close this date was to the scary night with Bella in November 2001 but before I get too far in morbid obsession my MSN beeps.
Earlier while writing this drivel I found myself suffering from brain freeze, unable to remember/recall/recount the word “retail.” I promise you I am not stupid, this is probably just something of a symptom of too much booze and drugs in my late twenties. In a bout of panic I had seen my old school friend Dave online and I had asked him. Ten minutes later, ten minutes after I remembered, he responds on MSN.
Once the whole “retail” query is cleared up Dave changes gear/tact and asks me if I have had much communication with our old school friend Glenn. I reply “this and that” and it turns out that Dave has had a little more than “this and that” to do with him.
Glenn was very hard work when we at school and the way he had recently gripped Facebook with gusto and over familiar gestures acting as if 15 years was five minutes ago indicated that very little had changed. As a result I had decided to keep in very much at arm’s length, especially when he kept asking me for my telephone number. Fortunately, just like Dave, he has since emigrated to Australia meaning that arm’s length is more than achievable/possible.
The problem with Glenn is that he has too much energy and a distinct lack of conscience, scruples and dignity. He also appears to be a person that hates to be on his own and as a result compensates for this by devouring people. I learned this the hard way twice, the first time being when he came to Florida with my family on holiday in 1993 and fucking ruined our time and secondly when we remained in touch post-school pre-career and how I would find him on my doorstep nearly every evening when I got home from work tired, knackered and irritable. I could add a third example of the times he would drag Dave and I out to play football against our wishes, when we would have no interest or energy for it. This wasn’t really the act of a bully, more someone very persuasive that would not take “no” for an answer. Such drive would explain his apparent success with the fairer sex, which he how appears intent on reliving through Facebook also.
Anyway, unfortunately being on the same continent as Glenn and possessing something of a sweeter heart than I, Dave had been in touch with Glenn a hell of a lot more than myself, receiving regular phone calls daily (ringing a bell with me and 15 years ago) mainly which consist of Glenn doing most of the talking drunk in the midst of some kind of fiery break up with some “German bird.” As Dave became less empathetic to his cause it would appear Glenn began sending nasty messages to Dave which he would later dismiss as drunken ramblings. Dave however was taking exception to these and feeling offended and abused.
I respond to this news with some kind of passive response stating I am unsurprised and to not get upset by them and ignore them. Obviously when you having somebody raving down the phone line at/to you this is easier said than done but I figure the best suggest I can make is to during a rant/whinge telephone call (session) to zone out by looking at pornography on the internet and wait for the person on the other line to hear your typing and ask/inquire “are you on the computer?”. Generally at this point people will tend to get the hint and you will get off the phone with a hard-on – if you have done it right.
Away from this I then introduce Dave to the point of Twitter and the world of Charlie Brooker which astonishingly for a professional journalist/writer he has not come by/across. I fail to sell Brooker will full persuasion (I can’t sell) but I guess I do my bit. He then chips off to some barbecue party while I am left to my own OWN devices on another boring Saturday for Jason. Damn, what a time it would be to Quantum Leap – a barbecue party in Australia would be exactly what the doctor be ordering at this time.
Returning to the radio I listen to Steven Berkof on Jonathan Ross’s radio show plugging and enthusing about his current show/version of On The Waterfront and really want to check it out. Unfortunately there is no one else in my world that would also like to do so.
Not long after this soon my Saturday morning has been wasted as the afternoon comes in and I discover Josie And The Pussycats playing on Channel Five. At is at this point that I discover the sound on my Freeview box on my TV in the front room isn’t looking like it is coming back. Then when I switch to the Freeview box on the TV in my bedroom the results are not perfect either but at least the screen on pixelates on occasion.
Early into the movie I nod off for five minutes and when I awaken early afternoon on Saturday I can’t help but feel I am wasting my life.
My afternoon takes something of a surprise twist when I receive an email from Kenneth Williams. I didn’t think he was still on/in this world. Does this mean he is going to be making more Carry On films? I read the email with great interest to hear that he is about to come into possession of $80,000,000 in African currency and he just needs a little hand with some administration costs and some bank details to hand over because his own bank is currently tied up with complications. Without hast I send my details over and now I look forward to having my share of the money hit my account at any day.
Away from this I cherish the afternoon watching episodes of Californication and Screenwipe including a very exciting episode featuring Charlie Brooker interviewing top comedy writers. This spurs me into action and doing some writing of my own. Unfortunately I start but do not finish (anything).
Its all good things as Millwall beat Huddersfield 2-1 away. That could have been tricky and would have been very Yorkshire. I hope everyone returns from up North safely keeping off the moors and away from grubby people with whippets and forks.
For dinner I microwave this utter puke of a slop ready meal of corned beef hash. I cannot believe that when I purchased it in Asda this morning I missed the words “corned beef” and instead only looked at the pictures of potatoes on the box and expected to find some kind of sumptuous and spicy mince meet beneath. I attempt to save the day by placing the mushed up hash in a spicy tortilla role but it just winds up tasting like warmed up paste and a substance likely to glue up my insides. I need a wife to begin cooking meals for me now!
With dusk in place, I spend terror twilight watching a couple of episodes of 30 Rock while being wowed by the red sky outside. The episodes feature great guest spots from Fred Armisen and Edie Falco but it is the sky that takes centre stage making me feel horny and young and almost vivacious. Life almost feels good as there is no one around to spoil such a sunset and youthful and energetic feeling.
As the evening goes dark I sail it out watching the penultimate episode of the new series of Minder (totally underrated) before settling down to watch the documentary about Salman Rushdie, his book the Satanic Verses and a bunch of uppity (and reckless/irresponsible) Muslims. I had always wondered what the fuss was about and as I make it half way through the documentary before falling asleep I still remain wondering just what the fuss is/was about. Fucking dickheads.
After nodding asleep early I find myself in’n out of grace waking in the early hours in time for the Channel Four showing of A Dirty Shame. Generally my friends appear to hate John Waters and Tracey Ullman so I guess this movie really is something of an acquired taste for somebody in my position. Unfortunately on this occasion (my third viewing) it just makes me horny and sees me checking out porn adverts on Youtube.
With the hour reaching around 3AM I eventually fall asleep watching The Wackness.
This morning everyone on the road appears to be driving like a tit and an arsehole. Nobody told me when indicating went out of fashion. Nobody told me that you were no longer allowed to drive slightly over the limit, instead now it appears that you have to drive two miles underneath the limit just in case the car behind you is able to get out of third gear and into fourth and begin to burn petrol at a cost crunch unfriendly rate.
Saturday mornings are becoming depressing for me. Why did I tap into the routine of the heading out to the supermarket at the crack of dawn just to buy the newspapers and get my groceries while I am at it? Having slept in my clothes yet again last night, my trampy appearance at this time is really not fine harvest for aisle flirting.
At one point however, was aisle flirting on the cards? I found myself exchange minimal glances with a crazy looking girl with flame red hair. She wasn’t gorgeous but she wasn’t ugly. I think the selling point was her bare legs. As she wore a mid length green coat there was no indication of her wearing any bottom halves underneath the hem of her coat – was she naked underneath there? It didn’t take long for my morning wood riddled imagination to conjure up this image.
After seeing the guy in our year at school that absolutely everybody bullied for the Nth week running jockeying his piss riddled career in loser retail I perform my weekly routine of scanning my groceries and having my card decline due the chip being next to scratched and NOT due to lack of funds.
As I do this suddenly I look over my shoulder and see the redhead. At this hour I cannot even squeeze out a smile, especially with my current beard having now reached grizzly stage. Part of me suspects also that if I were to do so she may blow her rape whistle. Quite possibly I just declined a/my/the soulmate.
Walking out of the entrance of Asda I find myself faced with the site of a squaddie riding an exercise bike like a machine asking consumers “are YOU feeling tired?” while he camouflaged mate wanders around banging a bucket for money/coins/change supposedly for charity. Are these also the people that make certain parts of town a no-go zone weekend nights? I have no charity.
Driving back home I find myself once more confronted by more evidence that it is “wanker behind a wheel day” as stupid is as stupid does occurs behind many wheels getting in my way. Of course my driving is perfection.
While back at home I find myself continuing my morbid curiosity as to find out just what was the final day of my involvement in/with Gringo Records and when I told Matt I had had enough. The three things I remember are that it was a Sunday, in November 2002 and after the call Very Bad Things was on Channel Four, which I watched while in tears. Perhaps worryingly I am probably able to trace the exact date by the reality that I hoard copies of The Guardian Guide and sure/soon enough I find out that the actual date was 17 November 2002. As I log the date in my mind it dawns on me that that was also the very same day that I was dismissed for gross misconduct by Beaumont Seymour for blogging while there. Talk about an unfortunate date. I then begin to research how close this date was to the scary night with Bella in November 2001 but before I get too far in morbid obsession my MSN beeps.
Earlier while writing this drivel I found myself suffering from brain freeze, unable to remember/recall/recount the word “retail.” I promise you I am not stupid, this is probably just something of a symptom of too much booze and drugs in my late twenties. In a bout of panic I had seen my old school friend Dave online and I had asked him. Ten minutes later, ten minutes after I remembered, he responds on MSN.
Once the whole “retail” query is cleared up Dave changes gear/tact and asks me if I have had much communication with our old school friend Glenn. I reply “this and that” and it turns out that Dave has had a little more than “this and that” to do with him.
Glenn was very hard work when we at school and the way he had recently gripped Facebook with gusto and over familiar gestures acting as if 15 years was five minutes ago indicated that very little had changed. As a result I had decided to keep in very much at arm’s length, especially when he kept asking me for my telephone number. Fortunately, just like Dave, he has since emigrated to Australia meaning that arm’s length is more than achievable/possible.
The problem with Glenn is that he has too much energy and a distinct lack of conscience, scruples and dignity. He also appears to be a person that hates to be on his own and as a result compensates for this by devouring people. I learned this the hard way twice, the first time being when he came to Florida with my family on holiday in 1993 and fucking ruined our time and secondly when we remained in touch post-school pre-career and how I would find him on my doorstep nearly every evening when I got home from work tired, knackered and irritable. I could add a third example of the times he would drag Dave and I out to play football against our wishes, when we would have no interest or energy for it. This wasn’t really the act of a bully, more someone very persuasive that would not take “no” for an answer. Such drive would explain his apparent success with the fairer sex, which he how appears intent on reliving through Facebook also.
Anyway, unfortunately being on the same continent as Glenn and possessing something of a sweeter heart than I, Dave had been in touch with Glenn a hell of a lot more than myself, receiving regular phone calls daily (ringing a bell with me and 15 years ago) mainly which consist of Glenn doing most of the talking drunk in the midst of some kind of fiery break up with some “German bird.” As Dave became less empathetic to his cause it would appear Glenn began sending nasty messages to Dave which he would later dismiss as drunken ramblings. Dave however was taking exception to these and feeling offended and abused.
I respond to this news with some kind of passive response stating I am unsurprised and to not get upset by them and ignore them. Obviously when you having somebody raving down the phone line at/to you this is easier said than done but I figure the best suggest I can make is to during a rant/whinge telephone call (session) to zone out by looking at pornography on the internet and wait for the person on the other line to hear your typing and ask/inquire “are you on the computer?”. Generally at this point people will tend to get the hint and you will get off the phone with a hard-on – if you have done it right.
Away from this I then introduce Dave to the point of Twitter and the world of Charlie Brooker which astonishingly for a professional journalist/writer he has not come by/across. I fail to sell Brooker will full persuasion (I can’t sell) but I guess I do my bit. He then chips off to some barbecue party while I am left to my own OWN devices on another boring Saturday for Jason. Damn, what a time it would be to Quantum Leap – a barbecue party in Australia would be exactly what the doctor be ordering at this time.
Returning to the radio I listen to Steven Berkof on Jonathan Ross’s radio show plugging and enthusing about his current show/version of On The Waterfront and really want to check it out. Unfortunately there is no one else in my world that would also like to do so.
Not long after this soon my Saturday morning has been wasted as the afternoon comes in and I discover Josie And The Pussycats playing on Channel Five. At is at this point that I discover the sound on my Freeview box on my TV in the front room isn’t looking like it is coming back. Then when I switch to the Freeview box on the TV in my bedroom the results are not perfect either but at least the screen on pixelates on occasion.
Early into the movie I nod off for five minutes and when I awaken early afternoon on Saturday I can’t help but feel I am wasting my life.
My afternoon takes something of a surprise twist when I receive an email from Kenneth Williams. I didn’t think he was still on/in this world. Does this mean he is going to be making more Carry On films? I read the email with great interest to hear that he is about to come into possession of $80,000,000 in African currency and he just needs a little hand with some administration costs and some bank details to hand over because his own bank is currently tied up with complications. Without hast I send my details over and now I look forward to having my share of the money hit my account at any day.
Away from this I cherish the afternoon watching episodes of Californication and Screenwipe including a very exciting episode featuring Charlie Brooker interviewing top comedy writers. This spurs me into action and doing some writing of my own. Unfortunately I start but do not finish (anything).
Its all good things as Millwall beat Huddersfield 2-1 away. That could have been tricky and would have been very Yorkshire. I hope everyone returns from up North safely keeping off the moors and away from grubby people with whippets and forks.
For dinner I microwave this utter puke of a slop ready meal of corned beef hash. I cannot believe that when I purchased it in Asda this morning I missed the words “corned beef” and instead only looked at the pictures of potatoes on the box and expected to find some kind of sumptuous and spicy mince meet beneath. I attempt to save the day by placing the mushed up hash in a spicy tortilla role but it just winds up tasting like warmed up paste and a substance likely to glue up my insides. I need a wife to begin cooking meals for me now!
With dusk in place, I spend terror twilight watching a couple of episodes of 30 Rock while being wowed by the red sky outside. The episodes feature great guest spots from Fred Armisen and Edie Falco but it is the sky that takes centre stage making me feel horny and young and almost vivacious. Life almost feels good as there is no one around to spoil such a sunset and youthful and energetic feeling.
As the evening goes dark I sail it out watching the penultimate episode of the new series of Minder (totally underrated) before settling down to watch the documentary about Salman Rushdie, his book the Satanic Verses and a bunch of uppity (and reckless/irresponsible) Muslims. I had always wondered what the fuss was about and as I make it half way through the documentary before falling asleep I still remain wondering just what the fuss is/was about. Fucking dickheads.
After nodding asleep early I find myself in’n out of grace waking in the early hours in time for the Channel Four showing of A Dirty Shame. Generally my friends appear to hate John Waters and Tracey Ullman so I guess this movie really is something of an acquired taste for somebody in my position. Unfortunately on this occasion (my third viewing) it just makes me horny and sees me checking out porn adverts on Youtube.
With the hour reaching around 3AM I eventually fall asleep watching The Wackness.
No comments:
Post a Comment