November 2 (US Election Tuesday): Peanut Butter, Eggs And Dice. Another day, another weird dream. This mornings dream saw me playing in the midfield for Millwall at the New Den only for me to be pulled off and substituted at half time and get replaced by Andy Roberts. In the dream however, I wasn’t having a bad game at all and when I spend the second half on the substitute’s bench, I ask the black Millwall reserves/subs (Mark McCammon and Moses Ashkodi strangely) what it was that I did wrong.

Once out of fantasy land, this morning there is no MSN from Sara which is an utter relief as I really want to get into work on time this morning. Upon arrival at work, I pick up some work which is not overly inspiring but gets me through. Stevo tells me that I need “a check up from the neck up”.

Today this months budgets are produced. Mine are shown with a slight improvement, my budget variance, as horrible as it is, now only shows a deficit of £5,032 compared to last months deficit of £6,022. My budget is made up of £33,120 budgeted time versus £28,088 actually billed. On paper my figures look pretty horrific but then again no-one’s budget is going the right way. And when I say “no-one”, I just mean the working stiffs. Last year my entire year’s budget ran at £34,210 actual versus a budget of £41,760, a deficit of £7,550 and it will be interesting to see how my final turns out at the end of December. Management tells us that these performance markers/measures do not reflect on our final salary evaluations but they must do. It is however an unfair playing field as certain tasks in specific departments can charge £25 for basically pressing a button and five minutes administration. These are the people whose budgets show a surplus of £10,000+ despite being limitly skilled individuals not pursuing any real career goals or qualifications. Ultimately these may be a performance tool indicator but when Tompkins makes the point that those appearing to over perform feel unrewarded and those working hard and still showing grand deficits (for one reason or another) feel resentful towards those with budgets the right way, ultimately the tool becomes a major demotivator also.

At lunchtime I stagger around town, back in cheap wad heaven. By the time the evening comes around, I find myself walking home in the darkest of dark; winter is now here in abundance. These days I find myself foolishly paranoid of being mugged/attacked as I walk home. I guess certain elements/incidents have made me this way.

I drive home, flying to mum and dad’s, my one decent drive a week in my pimp ride. When I arrive home in Holland, I find Dad sprawled out on the sofa with the dog. He actually doesn’t look very good and I sense that there is an atmosphere on the homefront. The dog jumps down off the sofa and runs to/at me, he is absolutely hyper, very rarely is the fucker this happy to see me. The dog has cow and can barely stop barking. Even more curiously, Dad is watching my latest video of The Sopranos. Is this him trying to reach out and connect with me? I have a few words and go in to see mother. When I step into the kitchen mum tells me that Dad is ill again and for the last/past two days he hasn’t had any life in him. This is latest, in a regular set of health warnings coming from mum and by now there have been so many false warnings, that she has reached a “boy who cried wolf” stage but tonight it is really visible that there is something up.

I eat dinner and go back into the frontroom where me and Dad watch The Sopranos “Long Term Parking” episode (again!). We remain speechless through the whole episode and it is a relief when it ends and it no longer feels uncomfortable to talk (not that we really talk about things anyway). Arsenal v Panathanikos comes on TV and we watch the match, delighting when Arsenal squander their lead and choke. Dad tells me how he has been to get his haircut at Colin’s and he tells me that they were going on about Football Factory and how Colin knows one of the main Headhunters. They also appear to have had their little National Front Desmond’s spiel, as the new owners of the Holland-on-Sea post office get commented about (you can guess).

Tonight Millwall are playing at QPR and despite my best intentions to get BBC London up on the internet, its just not being broadcast anywhere. The game sounds a good one, not least for the fact that Barry Hayles puts Millwall in the lead just after half time; on paper a win at QPR is very good. Things sound like they are beginning to go pear shaped however when Serioux gets sent off half way the second half. What on earth did that lemon do (it later transpires he threw a ball in a QPR player’s face). The inevitable happens and Millwall let in a goal towards the end of the game, the third match running and a very common theme for this season. The game ends 1-1.

During the evening I receive an email from Marceline telling me that the Blitters interview is now up on Diskant. Back of the net!

Sadly though, the high point of the evening appears to be the fun we have at the dog’s expense when I tie on my shoes to his collar and he drags it about the house, especially when looking for sweets we (supposedly) throw to him. I have always been notorious for tormenting the poor dog and the fucking nitwit has always loved me for it, like the brother I never had.

I start out watching the second episode of the latest series (four) of Teachers to see if it is getting any better. However its not looking good. Worse follows when I turn over to watch The Sopranos only to discover that E4 fuckers have gone and bumped it in the schedule, meaning I have missed the first half, which pretty much renders the point of my visit useless. There is however E4+1, so I stick around to watch that only knowing it will make me later and more tired for returning home. I begin watching the hour delay repeat at 11PM but before long I have fallen asleep on my parents’ sofa and when I wake up with the episode, the final of season five, all but finished meaning my visit tonight really was a bit of a waste of time.

Just part midnight, I leave Holland to return to Hollytree Court. Upon arrival home, I settle down to watch the US election with all intentions of staying up and watching it all. Thanks to Michael Moore and others all trivialising politics with their ridiculous left field rhetoric, it has all worked to drum up interest in these things that previously wasn’t there, I really think he has made it all into pop. And it has to be pop if I’m interested in it! It all kicks off and the race is on to win 270 colleges (whatever that means). In the top left corner of both broadcasts is a little score counter, like something of Sky Sports or similar. I stay up like a trooper and by 1.00 AM the score is 39-3 in Bush’s favour until suddenly at 1.07 AM there is a sudden onslaught of scoring and Kerry takes the lead 77-66. And it takes several minutes for the broadcasters to catch up to the scoreline and how has put the ball in the back of the net. At 1.22 AM Bush regains the lead at 81-77 and then at 1.35 AM a few more hoops go in and he goes up to 89-77. At this point, coverage really slows down on both channels (BBC and ITV) and as I begin to wish that I had Sky/cable/satellite so I could watch some foreign news channels, news items begin to get repeated regularly, the most telling being the clip taped at where Bush and his hicks were watching results come in. When at 1.50 AM Bush increases to a 102-77 lead, I am already finding myself regular channel hopping to boring education programmes on BBC2 and some kind of dull version of the history of porn on Channel Four. At 2.09 AM when a ton of extra scores come in, now reading 157-112 in Bush’s favour, I find myself tiring and boring and hitting the internet. By the time (2.44 AM) the score increases to 171-112 to Bush and Dubya looks well on his way, I can be found on the internet speaking to Sara on MSN whilst wearing out as many free porn sites as possible that I can find on the web. At 3.10 AM the score increases to 182-112 and things look like they might be headed to wrapping up despite reports of results in Ohio being unclear despite Florida being done and dusted in Bush’s favour. In my best of efforts, I find myself now looking at unfamiliar porno sights, the ones that insert viruses on your computer and switch your hook up to premium rate lines without you knowing. Sara keeps asking me on MSN what I am doing and telling me what an idiot Bush is and telling me that I am a nut for staying up. And I am soon beginning to see it that way too. At 3.32 the score reaches 193-112 and Bush has almost made the 200 mark without Kerry scoring any marks for a very long time and this is the point I finally pass out and fall asleep. At around 5.52 I awaken briefly spazzed out and I believe the score has jumped to 246-207 but with it being a school night, I really fight to get back to sleep. What a farce.

np: Nine Inch Nails – March Of The Pigs