October 31 (Sunday): Last Breath. Last night the clocks changed so when I wake up I have absolutely no idea what the actual time is, even when I look at the clock. And especially with the sky still dark (is it still night?).

Eventually, the sun comes out so I get up and go downstairs with fear/trepidation to inspect the damage on the Focus. Christ, what cunts the people were for having a go at my car, I so wish I had been there, I would have grabbed the golf club out of the boot and wrapped it round their fucking head in the same way that they wrapped themselves around my car. Also the people obviously had mental problems, surely if you’re going to wanker a parked car, you’re going to pick a flash car that is REALLY expensive (as opposed to normal person/working class expensive). As the saying goes (with regards to myself), couldn’t have happened to a nicer person (ho ho). I wind up holding in the wing mirror with a rubber band!

It’s the AM and Sara is online but she ain’t contacting me. Tom is also online and he contacts me, telling me about his date in London on Friday, over analysing it in the process. I give him what I believe to be is primo-advice but fucking hell, who should listen to an unmarried marriage counsellor.

I have a really wet moment this morning, miserable as sin about things and unable to get a stronghold on any revision or study, Dad could not possibly have picked a worse time to speak to me on MSN. Like a fucking child (yes the self obsessed person Sara accused me of being) I am curt verging on ignorant to him. However as soon as dad gets off MSN (offline) I find myself watching the Heaven And Earth Show and they show a recently interview they did with John Peel and suddenly the sadness of it all hits me and how, perhaps/probably in the eye of the public John Peel appeared to be the ultimate good father figure. And then the domino affect occurs as I do the math and apply hit age to my own Dad’s, the person I just blew out online.

Today’s plan really is/must be study without doubt, I really need to get going and make progress on it. But first I need to make the newspaper run. Oh but I also seem to have downloaded part of the new Matt Stone/Trey Parker movie Team America so I watch the first fifteen minutes of that and it is actually really funny when I wasn’t expecting it to be. Finally I get out to get the papers and on the car front, the rubber band just isn’t holding the mirror. I feel absolutely gutted, this looks like it is going to cost. I buy the News Of The World and The Sunday Times and park up in the GloboChem office car park where I am able to potter about with the wing mirror out of the sight of prying eyes (for some reason I have a real phobia of my neighbours and for some reason would find it humiliating to be doing so in my car park in Hollytree Court. Go figure, I’m mental). Luckily, the mirror does actually slot right in but the fucking thing is cracked to hell and really not much use but at least it is no longer dangling. I drive over to Halfords to see if they have any replacement mirrors but this looks like a specialist Ford job unfortunately. A little perk up occurs when it turns out that News Of The World and Asda are dishing out free DVDs of the Night Of The Living Dead today. Excellent! I am so fickle.

Eventually I get home to the reality that this really is not getting my study/revision done. And then The Chancers comes on T4 and there is no chance I am missing this show (these bloods keep kicking off, its ace!).

I spend the afternoon slowly, listening to the last Nick Cave record, endeavouring to tear into my accountancy books. All I know and can remember from the afternoon is that the gospel backing singers make a really good addition to the Bad Seeds (whoops).

This weekend is the anniversary of Ali vs Foreman and the BBC shows a really great documentary on the fight. The significance of the fight doesn’t really hit me. I even have When We Were Kings on DVD somewhere, never even ever taken out of the shrink wrap. Personally I blame George Foreman’s recent years comic persona and his healthy grill. Grinning fuckwit. Someone one day please explain the entire significance of this fight to me, preferably someone that has read the Norman Mailer book.

As tonight is Halloween, here come the Trick Or Treaters and the little fuckers hit Hollytree Court around 5PM. I never have any food in my flat, let alone sweets. Sweets make you fat and fat makes you unpopular at school. I wimp out and turn all the lights out/off. I figure it be better that I ignore their requests than I actually open the door to them dressed as I currently am: in my pants and a stinky jumper.

Bored, at a lose end, I settle down to watching the bonus DVD that came with the Star Wars Trilogy that has remained unopened ever since I bought it the other week. The documentary is three hours long and sometimes a person really can go way too far. Needless to say it sends me to sleep and I fail to get my rocks off to it.

Sunday night TV features the Music Hall Of Fame as it hits the sixties. Obviously the Beatles have made the Hall Of Fame, so tonight voting is really aimed at finding the second best band of the decade. The line-up is so so, the usual suspects, until the Velvet Underground hit the list. Jamie Theakston actually says before their bit “I’m really excited that this band has been included”. What? Anyways, the Velvet Underground remain probably the coolest band in history, with their unphased exteriors but menacing under the surface demeanours and general nastiness to their attitude/approach. I really do look up to the wrong people.

Halfway through the show, B pops up on MSN and begins asking me questions about Gringo. It seems her band is getting its shit together and she is asking me if I would be “interested” in doing anything with them on Gringo. A bit out of the loop there love. Sadly however she also sounds really green/naïve about the music thing, not really appearing to have a basic grasp/understanding as to how the whole band/record/release thing works. Additionally she keeps sending/directing me to various items on Ebay she would like to buy. Its as fascinating as it sounds.

Around midnight Sara comes online, giving me the latest news from Kangaroo Island. She sounds miserable as hell but begins telling me about her novel that she is writing. It is a romance story and I ask her if there is a suave character called “Jason” within it. She says “not yet”. I tell her that I can write and that my book is also well underway and she guffaws. Believe it baby.

I go to bed/sleep watching High Fidelity yet again. Here comes a new month.

np: Rothko - Pulse Of An Artery