Sunday, July 25, 2004

June 26 (Saturday): Unidentified black males.  I wake up and life has beaten me.  Christ, last night was the pits, life should never go that low.  I wonder how much I overreact (again!) but it’s not my fault at the end of the day, what a prize shit.

The night lingers in my consciousness, in the form of a mental scar.  This is one of those can’t get out of bed days.  Somehow though, from somewhere, I do manage to get the Saturday newspapers (did I walk down to the shop next to football ground?).

I don’t rant and rave or do anything destructive, instead I decide I cannot stay around here (here being Colchester, here being BS & Co).   I hit the web (the modern answer to everything it seems to me) and I begin scanning/scouring the job websites for accountancy jobs, local and in the City.  My CV is in the best state it has been in for ages and I have no reservations about sending it out to companies now, especially I genuinely do not think my current could possible be any harder.

I chose not to go around my parents today, I really don’t want them to see me this down in the dumps.  Instead I mope around my flat, half expecting a bitch out text from Sarah regarding my actions last night.  I never comes.  I watch The Ice Storm which I seemed to remember being good (not so hot on second viewing).

By the evening I am desperate and in need of human contact.  I am disturbed majorly but this has more to do with watching James Brown and Will Young on TV dueting.  I call up Mark to see what he’s up to.  My heart sinks when there is no response.  Spirits rise through the roof though when he gets back to me and says I can go over.

I get over to his and the plan is to watch the football, Swedan v Holland.  However his brother is there and things are much more fun just ripping the piss out of life.  There are beers and their parents are away so we can party.  I think however that I currently have a chest infection and when I splutter after a hit I sound like a real lightweight amateur.  Still, it knocks my head off immediately.

When I describe my experiences last night to everybody I find myself already able to laugh at things, that old cliché about it being good to talk really is true.  And it makes you sound interesting.

Mark’s brother Steve shows me his test pressings for his new record, I remember them.  I try to give him advice but it he seems to be doing things a good way, no expense spared.  I ask him why he’s pressing vinyl in England instead of the Czech Republic and apparently that place is a major pollutant of rivers and lakes in the area.  I always heavily criticised (and never used) the vinyl because it was cheap, nasty and always skipped, who would have thought I was being green.  Regardless, whatever the record with Rube is on, it is going to be a winner.

Potted and munchied, it is a real relief that Mark is cooking us dinner but it does mean that we are missing the game.  The food is great though and by the time we eventually get around to watching the football the game it is still 0-0 and going into extra time.  Extra time is actually pretty exciting and I’m told far better than the actual 90 minutes normal time was.  Holland come closest but fail to seal the deal.  Has football always been this entertaining when stoned?  Eventually the game gets into penalties and it is really great, penalty shootouts are actually pretty good fun to watch when you couldn’t give a flying fuck about the end result, high on comedy value.  Who won?  Erm, Holland I think.  Hope so.

Stoned we channel hop and come across Bo Selecta.  The Bear is hanging out with Bob Mortimer in the pub and they are both being fucking disgusting.  This is the stuff of greatness.

As it starts to piss down outside, Mark’s Steve disappears to bed or to listen to music somewhere leaving us to hang out with his friend who soon clocks it and leaves.  Me and Mark watch Paul McCartney live from Glastonbury for a bit but its getting late and cheesy in equal doses.  Without doubt, good times.

Today turns out to be the first day in a long long time that Sarah my “stalkerâ€� does not text me.  It is a relief

np:  So Clear Productions – Taking You Back


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