Sunday, August 08, 2004

July 21 (Wednesday): This morning in the AM I find myself reading an American Splendor cbr in order to free up some space on my harddrive. There first story in there is horribly familiar sounding to many of my current predicaments and interestingly mentions San Francisco and Sacramento.

At work I am doing a job where the client is called Jugdish and he is a whinging bastard complaining about the effect of supermarkets on his urban corner store. Yes, he is foreign and out for every penny he can get it seems. The lazy cunt though doesn’t open his cornershop on Sundays for starters. Shut up, you make my fucking blood boil.

Lunch is a Boots Meal Deal affair spent wandering around town with Louise and buying the NME as per every other Wednesday this year.

Football this evening is fucking carnage. We put out an ok team but there isn’t really anyone in our side to score goals. And neither is there anybody to keep Anglian Grain from basically pulverising us. Tonight they have their best team going, complete with two subs and Dick managing things from the side like it is a real competition with a proper cash prize. Stevo and myself didn’t bother to get the footballs from Birketts this time after the farce that was playing with the ten year old glorified tennis ball last time. And then they go and ask us where the balls are. Pricks. At the eleventh hour Jeremy has come in to play for us and I have (friendly) words with him about his actions at the Arts Centre this past Friday night. He denies everything, saying he was too drunk to remember any of it and at 11pm he had been puking up his guts before getting his second wind and tearing into clubbing mode for the Arts Centre. That’s the spirit! I’d like to blame Anglian Grain’s supremacy in this game over the fact they had an extra man but that would be kidding myself. Instead, with their monkey eared Rooney monster up front, they pummelled us with everything and were solid at the back. I find myself insanely busy and getting knocked about in the process, here comes bruises. At half time the score sits at 8-3 to them and that is with them taking it easy. So much for my intention/ideals of keeping my goals against average below ten this year. In the second half they joyfully/wilfully run rings around us and try out new things posing as their “second� team. At one point Dick orders on a double stuff as if it is a major re-allignment/re-arrangement of formation/tactics. I see Jeremy’s face/reaction to this, it is utter bemusement and the word “wankers�. I roll my eye balls. Ultimately our small victory turns out actually scoring in the second half (ouch!). The game ends with losing 12-4 and knowing our oppositions score should have been in the twenties. Apparently after the game Jeremy texted Ivan saying “Dick ruins it�. Agreed.

I get home disillusioned, with a total can’t be arsed with this anymore attitude. Dad hits me on MSN when I really can’t be bothered to talk. I was meaning to go to the chip shop tonight and get some chips, comfort food I guess, for something or other. I subtly mention this to dad and he lets me go and get them.

When I get in I watch my new TV crush. Its that bird Jo Frost from the show Super Nanny on Channel Four. This woman is built! And very big/hot on the discipline thing. Maybe I could have done with her as a youngster myself (no nanny stories/experiences for me).

I go to sleep. Pony.

np: Sugar – JC Auto


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