Sunday, October 31, 2004

October 15 (Friday): Now Who Wants Ice Cream? Today I had a really weird and disturbing dream with basically involved one of our more colourful/interesting clients (Steven Acme) telling me aggressively (while I work on his PC) how to pull and fuck women. And the aggression is not playful or laddish; it is almost rapist-esqe. I find myself feeling fearful but still toy with him, looking to piss him off when I point out how much he looks like Carson off Queer Eye For A Straight Guy. Piss him off? Mission accomplished per the dream. What is equally disturbing however is that this is not even a client that I work on, the job has become such a high profile balls up in the office (partly due to the guy doing the firm's website) that the whole situation is being laboured and dragged out very vocally and disruptively, obviously leaving its mark on my mind judging my this dream.

I wake this morning, depressed, disheartened and generally fucked off. Last night I couldn't even be arsed to set my alarm clock, so when I wake up at 7.30 it is by instincts alone and may as well have been 5.30 or 9.30 for all I could have known. I wake feeling bad about and within myself and the complete concept of going out tonight terrifies me as I only feel disgusting and minging.

I cross my computer (which made me cross last night) and there have been over night attempts to contact me from both Tom (12.30, "you awake") and Sara (3.30 "hungover"). Not long after I begin murmuring, Sara logs in and gets me on MSN. We have a pleasant exchange (as if usual these days) and she directs me to internet radio, where I eventually wind up on BBC London listening to Danny Baker like it is still 1992 for me. I talk to her and she tells me how she got her hangover, getting pissed with a Yank from Texas last night, celebrating after a good day at work. Really! I then tell her how I got Emily's number, all probably done in an attempt at envy, which seemingly works as she tells me that she doesn't like hearing about my "ladies" in the same way that I don't like hearing about "her men".

Eventually I slope off into, mooching, hoping my car hasn't been keyed in the night. For some reason, on the radio this morning, Scott Mills (Chris Moyles' stand-in) has got a dog on air attempting to hypnotise his co-host. Whatever.

I get into work and all is well and, generally thanks to Sara, I found I have cheered up myself. And Stevo also trots in with a smile, so its goodness all round. Today I have to go out to a client called Acme Painting and do some cover work for poor old Alan. Getting the client however entails riding the company bubble car with Lindsey. After a brief bit of waiting around, we eventually get going. The ride is a bit laboured and fairly awkward. It's about eight months now since I've properly spoken to Lindsey so scraping out any conversation now comes with baggage and is really laboured, especially when her responses all sound semi-nervous. Still, we live and get through the ride, the opposite of at eachother's throats.

My morning goes fairly well, save for a minor scare on Sage when it goes bollo/tits up but fortunately a quick phonecall to Stevo (Sage expert) sorts it out. However, just as I am having a weird think about the time in 1994 or 1995 when I went to Specsavers with Jackie, Lindsey turns up to drive me/us back to the office. This ride is somewhat more awkward but eventually the sphincter loosens when I ask her what she is doing this weekend (going to a wedding it seems).

When I get back to the office, minutes after getting in Stevo is on the phone asking me what I am doing for lunch. The Marquis or Nandos gets suggested and as The Marquis is cheaper, I plump for that. In the end it winds up being myself, Stevo, Brian and Sandip all chowing down. As we walk into town, we pass Natalie walking out town and today I just about manage to squeeze out a smile, which ultimately I feel is pretty futile as I feel utterly utterly minging. Lunch is odd and I wind up eating half Stevo's lunch also, self christening me "Jason Two Dinners". On the way back to work, we make sharp comments about today's students being future windowlickers.

I get back to work and tear through the cheque books at a hare's pace which frees up/earns me some time to work on my journal. Mid afternoon my phone beeps and it is a text from Chris asking me if I want to go around his tonight's for dinner. Back of the net!

When I get in, really it ought to be time to make moves to Chris' but really the flat needs a really good tidy, nothing of short of a total overhaul will really do. And then The Apprentice comes on TV and I really have to catch that.

I finally get to Chris' around 7PM where I find everyone, whoops his whole family including Gran, waiting me for to turn up so we can all eat dinner. However as per usual, I get away with murder. Dinner tonight is Toad In The Hole (YES!!!) times two (one for veggies and one for normal people). It's bonza tuck.

We finally make moves around 8PM and head to Sainsburys where we debate over what booze to get destroyed with tonight. It is exactly two months since I last got off my tits and officially I am off Stella because it turns me into a monster. On a Hunter S. Thompson I consider Courvoisier, until of course I see the price tag. In the end we plump for cheapo bourbon with Sainsbury Classic Cola as the mixer (which is actually an aces brew I'll let you know). I also finally get one of those Mudshake (?) girls' drinks, the alcoholic milkshake. Once finished struggling with the Sainsbury pump to put air in my Focus' tyres (I think I may already be a little drunk), we head to Ben's to pick him up and take him back to Bohemian Grove for a party.

Back at mine, we lunge into a full on assault of the senses, tearing into the booze like termites on a farmhouse. Me and Chris are binge drinkers and disgusting with it. Ben settles for his ONE (!) can of something. We (me and Ben) play FIFA 2005 on Playstation 2 while I just know that Chris is on my PC looking at the porn links on my AOL Favourite Places ("just check my email!", yeah right). As time wears on, the more pissed me and Chris get and, after jacking the Media Player to pathetic volumes (N.E.R.D.'s She Likes To Move being party track of the evening), we finally leave my flat. At some point around my flat Sarah texts me and asks me if I want to go out for a drink tomorrow night, an opportunity I jump at like an utter idiot.

We leave at 10.20 to head into town (a 25 minute walk) and between leaving and arriving, things become blank and blurry. I do remember much to Ben's disapproval, my kicking every traffic sign in the way in the process of our walk/march.

Upon arrival in town at 10.45/10.50 I find that I am utter fucking mullered and have very little idea of where I actually am. I realise we are in the Hogshead but other than that.... I recognise a few faces and take the piss out of them with contempt, each comment/blow annoying Ben more by the second. We sit outside in the garden for a while and I am only semi conscious to the fact that we have just stolen some people's seats (there are bags beneath our feet). I'm conscious but don't acknowledge it (ignorance rules). I find myself in a drunken text rally with Sarah saying who knows what but stuff I am sure will eventually come back to bite me on the arse. I also, for good measures, decide to text Sara (now in Australia) with "I love you" for a laugh.

We decide to make moves to the Arts Centre and god only knows how I get in there, I can't even pretend to be sober (not drunk) enough to be let. However, they let me. When the guy searches me, I do manage to empty my pockets onto the table but the process of putting all my cash and credit cards back into my pockets becomes more than a bridge too far. At the desk, I am lucky enough to have the correct money because there is no way I could ever have dealt with change. And I see Emma (my English course bud) doing security and I fire "wassup!" finger shots/expressions at her.

I manage to spend three hours of my laugh inside the club but I can recollect very little of it. I think the first thing I was met with was some girl in the distance doing interpretive dancing to the term "fuck off". I also remember standing like lemons for long periods of time and me macking some gorgeous oriental girls, attempting to remember/word some Cantonese at them and referring to them as "bamboos". I'm bad. I think eventually we moved into the centre of the floor and danced some. For some reason I decide I want to hear some Dexy's Midnight Runners and I force Chris to go up to the booth to request some for me. I follow him up to the booth and act with somewhat more enthusiasm than him. The DJ tonight is spot on and does have Jackie Wilson Said, so naff its good. When we sidle down the booth steps apparently (according to Emma) I fall arse over head and only manage to drag Chris down with me. As the night got busier, things apparently got suckier and I kept making repeated trips to the bathroom, at one point finding myself passing out while standing up at a urinal. Luckily some helpful patron patted me on the back, which woke me up. Maybe this was also the guy who I had my arm around on the dance floor who apparently worked for Col U who also told me he loved Millwall. Who knows? The whole evening/experience was basically akin to the period in my life where/when I would go around introducing myself to the question "who the fuck are you?".

We leave slightly before two, when I should have long been thrown out. As I stagger out the front, I see Emma and she goes "did you have a good night?" and I slobber a response of "nahhhhhh!!!!!". Cracked them up but I wasn't fucking joking.

Still pissed, we head to Crouch Street with food on our mind. I could not tell you what frame of mind my head was in at this point, only that I was on autopilot about to slip into fighterpilot.

Upon arrival at Bodrums, I have absolutely no idea how I am able to manage to order a kebab but I do and actually do so, giving Johnny Foreigner the correct change. Now that is talent! Then again, how hard is it to grunt "large doner" at someone and work out £4.50 in coinage. Eventually we get served and stagger out the kebab shop. As we leave (perhaps) someone makes comment about us, perhaps using the word "fat". As we walk up Crouch Street and I dip my fingers into the first part of my doner, it appears the gimp at the shop has failed to put chilli sauce on my baby. I rapidly lose interest in my food and begin to get slightly ticked off. I would imagine this caused me to feel the necessity to lash out at the world as while the others make moves towards the long walk home, I begin to linger around Crouch Street beginning to add up in my mind what occurred verbally in the kebab shop and how it was probably aimed at me and how it was demeaning to me and was someone taking pots at me and getting laughs at my expense. Yes, all this just from someone calling me "fat" (which really could/would never be confirmed one way or another. Does this make me paranoid?). Momentarily I toy with returning to Bodrums to hand/give out some shit but barely able to function in my drunken daze/haze, I spot someone walking past us on his mobile phone talking (or maybe I didn't even see the phone initially, just thought he was giving me more grief). I snap and standing in the middle of the road on Crouch Street (outside Sam's Pizzaria) begin giving the guy shit (a guy who probably didn't even do anything in the first place). Repeatedly I begin shouting at the guy, kebab in hand, "get off your fucking phone, get off your fucking phone!". To be honest, I don't really remember/recall what else I shouted at the guy but it was probably a really snappy "what's the matter?", a rather rhetorical question. At this point Ben pops at me and begins pulling me away as the guy begins pointing to the air saying "there's cameras up there" while I shout back "no there fucking ain't!". Eventually Ben succeeds in pulling me away and begins dragging me home, getting the real arseholes in the process. As we waddle up Butt Road I find myself going to Ben "what damage was done? We all survived to fight another day!" (in that really wanky positive drunk manner) and he pops back "he could have had a knife" and "you only did it (had a go) because there were/are three of us", all basic code telling me how out of order I am/was, which in the light of day cannot be argued with.

The walk up Butt Road and Layer Road is all but a blur, I guess I was sent to Coventry as I failed to get involved in any conversation. I'm positive at some point Chris and I stopped for piss breaks, all under the heavy judgement from Ben. I do recall a solid point of karma at an early stage of Layer Road as I slipped on the curb and dropped the kebab I was saving out of its box but somehow managing to hold onto the box. I remember clocking Ben watching me do so and through my utter heartbreak at losing my snack, just flinging the box over my shoulder as to say (in my expression) "meant to do that". I'm a prick to the end.

Upon arriving at Hollytree Court we splinter off and Chris stays around. As we split up, Ben barely says "bye" to me, if at all. Once inside, in the warmth and safety, I just go to sleep to get away from it all, going to sleep hungry.

No more binge drinking for JGRAM.

np: Foo Fighters - Good Grief


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