July 15 (Thursday): Dream wise, I have a fine one. Sadly however Sara wakes me up on MSN first thing and it seems she is kind of argumentative and so am I, not least when she harps on about the latest guy to fuck her. She’s pissed and pissing me off.

I am a bit late getting prepared for work and leaving but this works to my advantage as I am home to accept a package. It is my 20 live Fugazi CDs from America. Bonus, there has been no shipping declaration for customs and therefore I do not have any customs charges to pay, which realistically would/could have been around £60. Wahey!

Today is Dad’s birthday, there is supposed to be a cricket practise tonight but nobody seems interested or likely to turn up. Myself, I have to see the good doctor until 7.30 so I laugh it off also, although everyone doesn’t seem to believe me when I tell them I won’t be attending.

At lunch time I have to get dad a card and a present. Last week when I had to get a card for Phoebe I had Louise helpfully helping me choose. This week/time I have Stevo tagging along talking donkey, being a pain. While I make my card selection all I can hear from another part of the shop is someone opening all the tune birthday cards. We then go to HMV to get my dad a present. Dad has asked for a Dire Straits CD, they cheeky fucks for some reason have recently been repromoting their old CD on television and now he wants it (even though I bought it on tape for him years ago). There are no cheap copies anywhere, instead just whack £16 jobs. I don’t have the heart to fork out that much for something so bad. We look around the sales and suddenly come across Father Ted DVDs. Dad used to like Father Ted and so do we (me and Stevo) so I get them, unlike Dire Straits, these age like a fine wine.

Stevo spends much of the afternoon showing Sandip Father Ted on a company laptop while I struggle in the heat of Chernobyl to stay awake.

Around 5pm Dad phones me up to confirm that I am going over there this evening and what time I will be there so that he can go get us all a Chinese. Nice! I get my order in and finally it clicks with the others that I won’t be making it to cricket practice after all.

First things last though, I have to get this weeks session out of the way. Tonight, as per usual, there is lots to talk about. Mainly it is a dissection of my Saturday with Phoebe at the Tate but this swiftly moves onto my interview in London and the major progress that is apparent to me but not so the good doctor. I perform a Freudian slip when I mean to say I wasn’t a “shrinking violet� in my interview but instead I say I wasn’t a “shrinking violent�. I also mention Sarah and Sara (and Louise) and my life sounds so complicated in a good way. That said for all this apparent activity, it remains/sounds so unfulfilling when it spews/regurgitates out of my mouth. I leave feeling like a faker.

Done and dusted, I tear ass and fly down to Holland/Clacton for Dad’s birthday. It is a beautiful evening after a beautiful day. The Chinese is fantastic. Sadly though the Father Ted DVDs really go down like a lead balloon and mum sternly asks me why I didn’t get Dad his Dire Straits CD (“but its what he wanted�). In the end I wind up mending the adults’ computer as usual at home and downloading Lightning Bolt MP3s on their computer. The COPA America match starts on Sky and dad watches that but I watch the BBC documentary of one of their reporters going undercover with the BNP. It is a right royal stitch up but, just like with Michael Moore, nothing is revealed that we didn’t already know about these mugs that, in my opinion, due to their extreme viewpoints, are as ridiculous as each other.

I head home before it gets too late. It’s a pretty deflated birthday for Dad and I feel bad about that. Next year he hits 60 so really that should be a bash. I sleep tight.

np: Royal Trux – Money For Nothing