Thursday, June 17, 2004

June 17 (Thursday): Today begins badly, at around 4 AM I wake up from a dream about Azmei. It is basically a recurrence of her leaving Friday except this time she wilfully leaves without saying goodbye to me, in fact looking over to Chernobyl and smirking at the fact that I am unable to come over and say “goodbye�. She looks over at me as if she really couldn’t care less. I guess this is my worst fear. When I wake up I feel like I have been punched.

I am up at 6.30. Ah, it is free listing day on Ebay so I am busy. If you’re ever up this early you can watch GMTV and the guy on there is the biggest wanker going (John Stapleton?). He is Alan Partridge plus fifteen years, exaggerated with confidence and conviction, he serves no purpose and yet is an award winner. Please go away.

I am so tired. Pre-work I touch base with Phoebe on MSN. Seems I had best begin researching Lutheran theory.

Work work work and Stevo is back from Portugal which is the best distraction. I am so tired. Louise tells me the Big Brother house has kicked off and sadly that is the highlight of my morning. At lunchtime we head to the Hogshead but wind up in the Hospital Arms (what’s that about?). Portugal sounds very fun. Stevo makes claims about going to England games instead of Wimbledon games from next year onwards and he is serious. Never being to be the voice of sense, I try to point out otherwise to him.

Sarah texts me. She asks if I want to go out for a meal. Ouch, that’s not a good idea. I procrastinate as per me and then she texts “I guess that’s no then�. I don’t know what to say. I finally get around to telling her she freaked and she asked me why, when really I thought it was obvious. She requests examples and I unhappily comply. It is something I have kept it to myself, which is rare for me. Now thinks get sticky and I only wind up feeling like a fucking bastard, over the space of two texts she goes from “sorry I won’t bother you again� to “I really don’t want to lose you as a friend�. And she makes a big point of making sure I have not let slip what she has told me, I suspect its something even Azmei doesn’t know. It goes quiet and it ends in limbo, I really do not know what to do.

4.30 arrives (not before time) and we chip and head to town for England v Switzerland. The original plan was the Wig & Pen for “atmosphere� but Stevo leads the pair of us on a wild goose chase before we wind up there anyway. We arrive and outside is a police van full of geared up coppers, it looks like they’re expected a riot. We enter, half expecting not to be let in. Inside it isn’t actually all that busy, we get a couple of Stellas and watch the latest shower of shit. It is really full of people who fancy themselves, to whom I am not overly warmed by. Stevo feels likewise. We mass debate and suggest the place might be better christened the Chav & Pen. England look piss poor (when I/we can actually see the game). It is freaky because the small screen TVs are five seconds ahead of the big screen TVs and I find myself damn near breaking my neck swapping my view between the two. In da house is Pete Brame, Colchester’s own superstar from Pop Idol or Talent School or whatever that lame BBC show was called. Eventually/finally England score and it is planet Wayne Rooney unsurprisingly. There was a perverse satisfaction in seeing the goal go in five seconds before the pissed up masses.

I leave the game at the 70 minute point to go to my session this week. I needed this at the start of the week, I have a lot on my mind. I finally spill Sarah’s apparent “secret� to someone and sought advice I guess. The good doctor placates me and ensures me that all concern is not my fault. I have never been this animated in a session before, maybe the alcohol helped it. Apparently it seems I take on too much emotionally. Maybe, I don’t know, it’s a world gone mad to me.

That ends and I head home. Texts are sent and plans have been made to go out tonight. I call Ben to see what he’s doing and it seems I have an hour to get sorted out (the meet up is at 9pm, Playhouse, ouch). I pop into Chernobyl for a piss and walk home with two England fans singing behind. Why on earth do I feel intimidated? It’s the complex of the suit. I get in around 7.50 and Ben is over at 8.20. I really needed a bath but there wasn’t enough time. I was hoping to avoid letting Ben into the flat but when he calls round I am half naked and can’t really leave him outside. We stagger into town (but not before Ben tells me to take the Millwall shirt off). The 9pm Playhouse doesn’t meet, this is a meet up of the eternal latecomers. Ben slopes into Edwards for a dump because the Playhouse ones are wisely closed off (too much information).

We notice in Edwards that hearing France were winning 1-0, suddenly the score is Croatia 2 France 1. It becomes apparent maybe we should be paying more attention to Croatia all of sudden.

Eventually we all meet up and the night kicks off with a whimper. I don’t know about the others but I am shattered and slightly drunk and really not in the mood. And this comes after suggestions are made of going to the indie night at Route/Root. Ben is first to drop of the flies. Give him his dues though, he does make the effort with three long toilet trips. France score and tie their match 2-2 with Croatia, all looking good for England all of a sudden. Some fool suggests we head to the Hole In The Wall. As ever its horrible, I cry. A couple of piss heads insinuate aggro and I cringe. Eventually I jump ship as the others actually DO head for clubbing at Route/Root. I stagger home pissed and hungry, semi defeated. Sometimes you know when you are trying too hard.

I hope to get home for Big Brother to see the Victor v Emma bitchslap contest. Sad truth, I would have preferred to have watched that than go out. Such is life. Instead its more Sopranos VCDs. Life in the fast line. I find when I get in I am staggering around the flat like ET when pissed. Still managing to type this drivel but.

np: Big Black – Bad Penny


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