JGRAM WORLD

2005-02-21T22:12:00.000Z

My main insperation for writing killed himself yesterday. Hunter S. Thompson went a long way to getting me sacked from a job I really did not enjoy and inspiring me to pursue a better job/career and generally into writing more frequently, regularly and publicly than ever before in my life. I suspect this is something that not all people will necessarily understand.

2004-11-17T15:54:00.000Z

November 17 (Wednesday): Burning Issues. At 2PM this afternoon I attended a hearing with my current employer and by 2.30PM, the end of the hearing, he is/was no longer my employer, ending by far the most interesting period of my employed life to date.

I suspect I may be the first person in the UK to be dismissed for their Blog (our boring country always follows the lead of the US it seems).

It seems the term what has happened to me is I have been "dooced". And to rub salt in the wounds, it was by luddites. Unfortunately for them however, it was all observation not fabrication.

I’m actually really saddened to be leaving, despite hair tearing out incidents prompting off colour comments, I actually found myself working alongside some fantastic colleagues making the best of times my most enjoyable period of employment to date. However Pompeii didn’t last forever, so onwards and upwards in my foolish Gonzo world.

Thanks to everyone for reading.

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2004-11-11T10:37:00.000Z

November 10 (Wednesday): The Return Of The Curse Of The Creature's Ghost. Upon arriving at work this morning I was called out by my boss and suspended with pay from work. Let's just say this adds to my general stress level.

2004-11-11T10:36:00.000Z

November 9 (Tuesday): A White Man Set Them Free. This morning I am up at 6AM with a lot more zip. This morning there seems to be less to get organised, so I’m out the door like a shot (number one with a bullet). Sara hits me on MSN with “morning soldier” but ain’t no time to play, especially with one that cheats.

I manage to get to North Station in the best of time and get on the sacred 6.51 train. This morning Moyles is so so. This morning, with my mind together, I take the correct/proper train to King’s Cross (Circle/District line) and actually find myself the first person to have arrived in the class.

I go take an early morning pee and arriving is a crazed biker student, caked in Tour De France lycra doing stretches in the hallway of the college. And I have to say, such a hardbody with a sweat on and a foreign (exotic) image/look, I am smit (aka turned on).

Phoebe turns up telling me about the fantastic fried breakfast she has down the road (where’s my invite?). This girl really eats in the best possible way, and when I say best way, I mean unhealthily without care it seems. By rights, such a diet should make her a fatty but nope, she remains gorgeous and awesome (albeit losing points for her new hair).

The class (course) is a pretty good one, I am feeling optimistic as many of my answers to class set questions match those answers on the board as per the teacher. Still, there is a girl at the back who persists/insists on asking stupid questions. In the words of South Park “there are no stupid questions, only stupid people”. The girl is a state, slightly tubby wearing a tight top which doesn’t quite pull all the way down revealing her gut hanging out. Gorgeous.

As things go my way, I find myself getting bored and fidgety whilst almost finding myself feeling pretty confident and upbeat over things.

At breaktime I find myself doing the usual bathroom thing and once more it only occurs to me even more just what fucking pussies trainee accountants are. Whenever I go to the bathroom they are all their, sat in the toilet stalls shitting and when you are lucky enough to find a free one, commonly you find that the filthy fuckers haven’t actually bothered to flush the toilet nor the turd away. I find myself having to flush a toilet almost half a dozen times and stuffing it with toilet paper in order to get rid of someone else’s faeces. Fucking disgusting. And these are my fellow peers in the accounting profession?

The course continues/persists and then lunch comes and lunch goes. Again today, I purchase one of those fantastic Italian spicy chicken sandwich rolls before heading back to class where I barely speak to Phoebe over the duration of the lunch period, I just cannot be arsed to talk to her, did we ever have anything in common?

I check my GPRS and discover that Emlyn Hughes has died. And tonight Liverpool are playing in the Carling Cup. Is there some kind of curse attached to them playing in this competition this year? In the last round, the day that the played was the day that John Peel passed away.

The course resumes and I begin to feel happier by the minute, I even wonder how on earth I failed this exam in the summer as I manage to correctly respond to answer after answer.

At breaktime I experience more insanity when some dumb black woman opens a window and hangs out of it and when the window rolls/revolves round full circle and hits her on the back causing her to nearly fall out of the window (fourth floor), she goes to me “what a bad design”.

The course ends and I begin to feel good about studies again, the rare thing of confidence has once more reared its ugly head back into my system and I feel fantastic!

I soon find myself home in Colchester, riding this crest of a good vibe wave and much appreciate a well earned, rested evening. Things are beginning to look good.

np: Butthole Surfers – Dancing Fool

2004-11-11T10:35:00.001Z

November 7 (Sunday): Bush Is A Pussy. This morning I wake up bamboozled at around 7.30 and I find myself watch BBC 24 News. There has been some kind of enormous train crash occur during the evening yesterday where someone it seems had broken down (or parked) on a level crossing. My god, trains are fragile, they seem to fly off tracks like Hornby toy sets. Perhaps the infamous excuses of “leaves on the track” may not be so flippant after all.

I find myself actually Match Of The Day despite my cod anti-Premiership stance these days. Let’s face it The Championship is a lot more open and competitive and therefore more exciting as a result even if half the players don’t appear to be able to play for toffee, they do at least still kick people up in the air in the name of entertainment (well, they do at Millwall). Sunday morning TV then turns into Pop World and as usual I find myself asking “should I be watching this?”.

Early doors and Acton hits me up on MSN. He is still pissed he tells me. I attempt to make his head pound further by describing what I am watching on TV to him: Helen Fielding and George W. Bush being interviewed by David Frost on his tedious Sunday morn show. This guy stole Peter Cook’s thunder in the sixties? The Heaven And Earth Show comes on and it is just too much.

I begin watching my Teachers Series 3 DVD as things begin to transpire into being a proper lazy Sunday (with lazy being code for utterly wasted). And unfortunately, one of my previously favourite TV shows no longer appears to be floating my boat.

I spring up with the realisation that I have to actually go out and do stuff today. I bag up the Cantonese book and tape from the library (a dead loss that was) and I head into town. I drop the book off and look around for the Ken Barry book (“Jennifer Government”) we briefly looked at in English this week. It isn’t in the library (a spelling book on wrestling is though) but I do discover the book in Waterstones. I’ll buy it another.

I catch glimpse of the time on my watch and I suddenly realise I am missing the essential Chancers on Channel Four. This show is pretty unmissable for someone into music. I still would heavily doubt the credibility of anyone involved in this show (including Fatman Scoop, Mr Commercial Rap himself) but it still makes for great viewing for an (one) insight into the music world. And this one is so far removed from where I used to be involved it is painful, although there are the occasional moments of familiarity that make me smile.

Back out on the streets, I resume today’s chores and I do some half arsed attempt at food shopping at Asda where I find myself getting lost in the store looking for some Marmite. Not intending on kissing anyone this weekend.

I pop over to the train station to get a ticket for tomorrow and as soon as I get there I realise that I forgotten to buy some bin bags and I feel like such a failure, I almost begin crying in the queue. Exam meltdown has officially started.

I return home where I wind up watching the movie The Indian In The Cupboard mainly because Steve Coogan is in it (eventually) and I used to play with action figures when I was younger. These really are not the best reasons for a 28 year old man to be watching a kid’s movie.

Beyond that, I watch more of my Teachers DVD and eventually fall asleep for a Sunday nap (god I sound old).

At 6PM The Simpsons is on TV and the routineness of it all seems to be some kind of return of sanity to the world, as a beast/species humans need routine in their lives just to keep them on the tracks, the straight and narrow.

I spend the remainder of the evening getting prepared for tomorrows trip up to Kings Cross and clean myself up (mentally and physically) to attack the course in general.

At 7.38 my phone beeps and it is a text from Phoebe stating “Hiya Jason hows it going? Time flies! tmrw is revision course for me. How about u? Hows ur english course going? Anyway hope u had a gd wkend! Phoebe”. I guess this shows she hasn’t forgotten about me entirely. I however reply curtly, far from friendly.

The night ends, seeing me having a much need bath before falling asleep watching the Music Hall Of Fame on TV (now onto the fifties) featuring a mindblowing bit on Johnny Cash. I fall asleep before the show finishes.

np: Johnny Cash - Hurt

2004-11-11T10:35:00.000Z

November 8 (Monday): It’s A No-Brainer. Big day for me, the return of Phoebe Luk into my life whilst I really really need to consume all knowledge available (I just cannot afford to fail these exams again).

It begins with a hic-cup, when after a restless night I awaken at 2.30 AM thinking that it is time to get and go. Fucking idiot. I manage to get back to sleep eventually and when my alarm swings at my head on 6AM I wake up feeling very dozy, feeling very sorry for myself.

Outside it is still pitch black and dark which is all too conducive to a slow start. Eventually I get my stuff together (physically and mentally) and get to the station in good time. My bad beginning continues when I pull out my cellphone headphones to find one of the heads has fallen off. And this means when I get on the train and listen to Moyles, he is not muffled and other passengers get subjected to him prompting one toffee commuter to give me a very offended and aggressive look. Stark raving exhausted I glare right back, taking several seconds to even compute his disgust. All is forgotten however when Moyles chucks on “Sunday Sunday” by Blur. This becomes the point my day begins to turn around.

When I arrive at Liverpool Street, the Central Line is pretty loaded and very tense. And later I realise it turns out that I didn’t need to go on the Central Line at all. As I bored the train on autopilot, pretty much still half asleep, I have the plan of getting off at Bank in order to get to King’s Cross via the Northern Line. These really are the tactics of a rookie. And I reach the total uncomfort zone on the Central when some guy seems to have no remorse about pretty much sitting on my crotch/dick. I spend a few minutes considering stick my finger up his arse to make him move but only reach the conclusion that this would be something he would probably enjoy.

Eventually I get off the hell train, onto something a lot more civilised and the Northern Line route to King’s Cross. Upon arriving at King’s Cross I remember I actually have no idea where BPP in King’s Cross is actually situated. I look up the address and it is Pentonville Road. That’s on Monopoly isn’t? I leave the station by way of the Thameslink exit.

BPP King’s Cross actually turns out to be situated next to a place called The Poor School which, by judging on the adverts, is an acting school which produced (spewed out) Kat Slater on the world. Today, I am really on the map.

I just about find my classroom in the new King’s Cross college and immediately I see Phoebe. She has changed her hair and I don’t like this style/do as much as the old one. Nevermind. We chat and make nice nice, like I never had any feelings for in the first place. Long out the window now are my attempts to impress her by learning/speaking Cantonese. And worse, today I find myself finding her voice annoying. I have to say, rightly or wrongly, today I find myself looking past Phoebe as I check out the talent in/of the classroom, my eyes wandering past her towards the short, dumpy oriental girl/lady in Dame Edna glasses and the beautiful black woman (with hair in sexy brown dreads) sat in front of me.

Initial impressions of the new college are not good when our drinks vending machine doesn’t work and I spend the majority of the morning struggling to stay awake, gasping for any variety of fluid/juice.

Today’s tutor is unfortunate. She is young and looks like a cross between Cathy Tyson (from Mona Lisa) and ET. Generally I find myself attracted to teachers (some people like maids, some people like police women, I like teachers) but not her for some reason. Initially I don’t rate her teaching but I still feel good about this subject, for some reason audit represents a concept I can get with and identify mainly through the whole common sense of it. Had I been on the job, Enron would not have happened/occurred (ho ho).

Mid morning I receive a text from B, really out of the blue. This causes some distraction to my course as I question myself: “is this the third anniversary of her going absolutely mental at me at my flat?”. In the text, she is asking me if she can call me up on the telephone. Why do people suddenly feel they need permission to telephone me? Her call really is probably just her asking me to put out a record on Gringo Records by some shitty band she is in in Nottingham. Two years too late babe.

Today, I have a headache and could do without being here.

At lunchtime, I head/walk down the Pentonville Road looking for somewhere to get some lunch. Scary experience. Is it scary though or am I just paranoid? Regardless, it seems pretty short on decent places to get food. Eventually I wind up in some Italian place (the only place that isn’t Asian) and I struggle to buy something when the lady behind the counter has as much trouble understanding my accent (mockney/estury) as I do understanding her accent (Italian?). Eventually, with much grunting and pointing, I wind up with some spicy chicken sandwich in indescribable bread. And it is the most fantastic tasting thing I have eaten in weeks.

I manage to talk through lunch with Phoebe, with have this and that to catch up on (since our last meeting back in August) but really, the pair of us do not have that much stuff to report having done in the meantime. And I wish it as otherwise.

The afternoon session kicks off with the tutor using terms such as “brain dump” and “knowledge dump” whilst describing how to answer exams questions; are these City terms? Should I be adding them to my personal dictionary/vocabulary? All thoughts disappear though when the tubby girl continues to persist in asking stupid questions and then some other person vocally expresses that they don’t know what deferred income is a liability (“surely it’s a debtor?”).

We have a great afternoon break, me and Phoebe chatting. I show her the Hunter S. Thompson book I am currently reading (Kingdom Of Fear) and when she picks up on the word “godfather” on the back, she tells me that everytime she saw Sopranos adverts on TV, that she thought of me. Phoebe however becomes most animated when she tells me how her Gran in Hong Kong has just been baptised and the wacky things she is now coming out with and saying. And Phoebe tells me the story so loudly, that the whole/remainder of the class can hear. I have to admit, it embarrasses me a bit.

The study part of the day ends and I head back to Liverpool Street to get home. While I wait for my train, I see some gimp I used to go to school with called Michael Wilson. Maybe my dream on Saturday about an old school acquaintance was about the wrong Wilson. I really need to quit peaking at Friends Reunited.

Eventually I get home to Colchester and pop into Asda for some dinner in the process. When I arrive back at Bohemian Grove, there is a James Bond DVD I had forgotten that I had actually ordered (the movie with Michelle Yeoh in, probably purchased because to wank to it/her at some point).

Tired and lonely, I am not long for the evening and soon nod off. Sara (Haslett) however wakes me up on MSN and we proceed to have a lengthy chat, mainly about her coming back to the UK in December.

Tonight on Channel Four is the showing of the final episode of season five of The Sopranos. I’ve said it many times before but this really was a fantastic way to end a fantastic series. One day, I’ll tell you why.

My night ends with the Brady Bunch Sequel on BBC1. This film is actually fantastic, really clever and funny in the process when really it should by rights just be some chumpy TV spin-off throwaway movie but there is actually some dark stuff (humour) going on in this film. It’s a good way/note to turn in for the day.

np: Taj Mahall – John The Revelator

2004-11-11T10:34:00.000Z

November 6 (Saturday): Goin’ On A Holiday. Asleep on the sofa in parents’ front room in Holland, at 6AM my fucking mobile phone beeps with a text message and wakes me up. Who on earth could/can be texting me at this time of the morning? It can only be one thing: trouble. Paranoid android.

Like an ostrich however, I bury my head in the sand and fall back to sleep where I proceed to have a curious dream where I am living in an absolute hovel in the centre of London with an old school friend called Melanie Wilson and her little son (this has to be a direct result of going on that fucking Friends Reunited website last week).

Eventually I wake up proper and it is a beautiful morning (wake up boo). I finally check my mobile phone for the text message from hell and it’s a poxy spam/junk text from Anus, the people who do ringtones. What on earth made them think that sending a text message at 6AM on a Sunday morning is/was a good idea?

Today is autumn perfection. I love coming home to my parents, I would probably happily move back home at the drop of a hat these days, compared to this home, my flat resembles a prison cell for me. That and the extension of a teenager’s bedroom. Coming down and visiting my parents at the seaside/coast of Holland is one of my few remaining relaxations and treats in life and I will really miss it when they move up to Colchester and Balkerne Heights.

Mother cooks me some beans on toast for breakfast and they taste so good, suddenly I find myself 28 years old going on 8 years old.

I watch some old Memphis wrestling (Jerry Lawler v Randy Savage) on Sky before heading out to get my haircut, leaving the olds to continue clearing the loft out.

When I arrive at Colin’s it is still pretty early and the place is empty except for himself, Dick and the other Dick. Today is the total weekend version of barber shop, no racism other than Colin accusing Dick of getting bummed at RAF Bentwaters for cash. These are my role models for growing old with disgrace.

I do the newspaper run and return home to discover the parents have completed the clear out of the loft and unearthed a ton of treasures which they have spread out all over their bedroom. I look at it and begin to hyperventilate, the majority of the stuff is mine and it is stuff I just know that I am going to have to sort out with view to trashing when really wanting to for a) being forced to trash my youth/past and b) there are probably plenty of items with value on Ebay here.

Reluctantly I step into the tat and find so (too) much eighties kitsch, it is painful. First of all, here are several boxes of football magazines and football programmes from the late eighties (1986 to 1989). The first issue of Shoot I come across is the one covering Wimbledon winning the 1988 FA Cup Final with Dave Beasent on the cover. I snap that up immediately, just knowing that Stevo will fucking love it.

Next are boxes of teams of Subbuteo teams. And they are all in danger of being crushed by my heavy handed parents who have no idea how flimsy these little fuckers are. I spend minutes looking to see if I have a Millwall team and then I find myself transported mentally to when I used to run Subbuteo leagues, playing myself and running and recording results and statistics. It seems I was always destined to work with numbers.

Next, out comes a box of old cassettes. There are some old rock tapes (Guns N’ Roses, Metallica) and plenty of albums that I record when copying CDs I borrowed from the local library. I do find some treasure when I come across some old Mark Radcliffe night show compilations I made but who knows when I will actually get the opportunity to listen to them as I separate them from all the other tapes, marking them as “special”. The only CD I come across in this whole box is an old Slayer CD single (Serenity In Murder) and suddenly I find myself heading back to teenage adolescence. I begin to hyperventilate and I have to sit down.

Ouch, it only becomes more painful when I arrive at a box from 1994 and come across old writings from my SEAX YT college/Fersina Vaughan YTS days and the post school wilderness period that I experienced. The writings are so horrible, the ramblings and rantings of someone really in a bad place and state of mind. I read a couple and quickly bag up items such as early journal entries, one page novel beginnings of a boy on the verge of suicide, early No Pictures articles and attempts at writing like William Burroughs. I quickly bag the writings up so that no one (ie my parents) will be able to accidentally happen upon them in the process of their great house clearout. Interestingly however, a lot of the stuff is actually dated, so I decide not to quite ditch it yet.

The final box turns out to be the great Gringo Records archive. Oh my, this is a treasure trove. We started the label in late 1996 and it peaked around 1999/2000 and here I come across most of my mementos from those years. Here I find an old contract with Che Records which each band member and Gringo person signed, an old Mogwai gig poster with Hirameka on the bill, tapes that are old interviews I made (Dave Pajo, Stuart Braithwaite, Charlie Harper and Bobby Conn), old newspaper articles (a Hirameka picture with Joe Russo posing as Chris Baldwin) and NMEs and Melody Makers with the occasional name drop of yours truly. And probably near to a million flyers and letters as well as old statements from distributors (from Shellshock to SRD and back again). Suddenly I look past the difficult years and look towards one of the best periods of my life.

I come away from the trip down memory thoroughly jaded, oh man I don’t want to address my past with its belongings/remnants/souvenirs.

I spend the remainder of the day hanging out at home with no real interest in anything. Relic Hunter comes on Sky and I watch it but don’t take it in, my love affair with that show really is now on the wane. I decide to spend the remainder of the afternoon at home because Channel Five is showing Blues Brothers 2000, which is a movie I have been meaning to rewatch for the longest time. About an hour into it, Dad joins me as we watch the car wreck of a sequel, which perverse I quite enjoy just knowing really that it gave a lot of work to a lot of has-beens out of work, so I indulge in a little bit of star spotting rather than actually get into the plot of the movie (which is ultimately an abomination).

Tonight I am supposed to accompanying Stevo to a meal that celebrates Steph’s birthday. Steph is the daughter of one of the receptionists and I am just invited along to be the straight man/person as she sets Stevo up with some munter she knows, a woman in her thirties that goes clubbing in Colchester’s Hippodrome. This does not bode well for the evening. If I’m honest, I really really do not want to go tonight, not least because I am not the one being set up. I however am obliging and willing and able to go, even if my heart is not in it. And this really shows/tells when mum offers to cook dinner at five and I accept wholeheartedly (what, am I going to be Jason Two Dinners this evening?).

Eventually, I leave home (my parents) and labour back to Colchester, listening to Radio 2 in the process. In listening to this shit, I discover this amazing singer called Millie Jackson. Fantastic.

As soon as I arrive back in the Hollytree car park, my phone beeps and it is a text message from Stevo saying “I’m going to be a bit late tonight, I’ll be there just after eight”. I saw that coming, if he’s going to go to Wimbledon today, he was always going to get stuck in traffic on the way back. I text back “let me know when you get to Colchester” and I slump inside, with no intention of heading out for the 7.30 of the meal at the luxurious Sloppy Joes on Colchester High Street. Basically my view is, I’m doing him the favour and he can’t even be bothered to arrive on time, I can’t be arsed to participate in a meal (and subsequent night out) that I can’t really afford. Instead, I stay in and masturbate to Kylie Minogue on the TV whilst awaiting the inevitable hassling phonecalls from people wondering where I am. Of which only receive two before it comes obvious where I stand. I guess Stevo’s prediction yesterday of “you’re not going to turn up” becomes true.

I spend the remainder of the evening taking in loser Saturday night TV before putting myself out of my misery by falling asleep. I am so antisocial it hurts (others).

np: Millie Jackson – The Rap

2004-11-11T10:33:00.000Z

November 5 (Friday): Please Don’t Kill Me. “I feel good today Silent Bob, gonna make some money, gonna fuck this bitch, gonna fuck that bitch”.

Friday pie day and I am chocka at work, suddenly I have a couple of sharp deadlines. This morning I am late leaving and almost late arriving but still I beat Stevo to the office, so ultimately who is any wiser.

Today all of a sudden I find myself working on three jobs at once, after a week of taking it easy, suddenly three jobs are foisted on my out of the blue and because I am on revision courses in King’s Cross next week, management suddenly want them now!

Work is a strange atmosphere today, not least for the lunchtime jolly up that the partners have with somebody from Pannell Kerr Foster. We watch as one by one, all four of them return and go off for a feast somewhere rubbing their hands together. Immediately hearsay kicks off and within minutes of their departure, rumours bounce around the mill. Recent developments in accountancy legislation are moving towards to firms not being able to audit accounts that they have prepared themselves. For years this seemed common sense to me but gradually I have come to see this act as common place within in firms, especially this one with its “unique” audit staff and audit methodology. Regardless of what turns out with the legislation, all expectation/word is that the company will lose a great chunk of work with regards to its biggest client (a very large group spread over Norfolk, Cambridgeshire and the London end of Essex). It didn’t occur to me until Steve points out suspicions of all the partners going for lunch with Pannell Kerr Foster. Ouch. Stevo debates out loud the likelihood of some kind of merger or sell out which, Michael Moore has taught us nothing, points towards some kind of downsize. Now, to be honest I have never really seen things in such a way at this level of operation but suddenly it could be change begat change. However I really try (want) not to be as paranoid/pessimistic as Steve, being more pragmatic at “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it”.

Alarm bells however ring when the subject gets further discussed as Ive comes over to Chernobyl and Stevo further needles/pursues the point. After taking a rational perspective on things, Ive pipes up with “he’s known the guy from PKF for years and the guy is just using up his entertaining budget”. All of a sudden, the story no longer makes any sense. Why would one friend take out all the partners of a firm? Ive is someone in the know at the firm and a real star player. He is in effect protecting his future investment everytime he addresses the subject of the firm with his colleagues (non-management). Suddenly paranoid thoughts seem more tangible.

For lunch, Steve manages to drag me, Brian and Iran to the Marquis, I take very little arm twisting even when I have very little in the way of payola.

The afternoon passes with very little incident, I remain banging my head against the wall trying to pull together three pretty poor jobs, one being accounts from three years ago where the old accountants are withholding records (if they haven’t thrown them in a skip) and another being James Brown, a client described by Randy Pan as “a pikey without a clue” who does not produce sales invoices or record income or maintain/retain cheque book stubs, a real money laundering no no that should be reported. And then I get grief from the partners when I make estimates on these jobs. No wonder I lack gung ho for my job.

As I’m away for the first part of next week, I attempt to leave my desk area in a tidy state which only prompts smart arse comments from Stevo like “has somebody told you to do that?”. Winker. I bag up all my stationery and take it with me just knowing that if I leave it behind someone (probably Drew) is likely to grab it. Things get between me and Stevo in the afternoon as I respond to his smart comments by digging at his work and calling him “Stig”. He addresses tomorrow nights birthday dinner at the “glamorous” Sloppy Joes and he makes the assertion “you’re not going to turn up are you?”. I don’t want to but I will but making such propositions is almost a dare to me, like showing a red rag to a bull. I guess we’ll see. The day ends tense between us for stupid reasons and I find myself unable to blag a lift home from him (there must be something up).

Upon getting home, I quickly bag my shit up (my cleaning mainly) and hop into my car and head home. I stop by via Highwoods Tesco where I buy the Teachers Season 3 DVD when really I can’t afford it. Monkey.

Eventually I get home to Holland around 7.30, pretty close to kick off for Millwall v Sunderland on Sky. Arrive home to the news that Santini has gone from Tottenham, Santini being the football coach/manager that looks exactly like Tackleberry from the Police Academy movies, making Spurs games that much more interesting this year and great nostalgia trips.

Tonight is Fireworks Night and boy do we know it. As I near Clacton on the bypass, I look around into the sky at my surroundings and from every direction in Clacton, the skies are being lit up with thousands of pounds of fireworks, it is a fantastic site. However back home, our (well, my parents’) neighbours are going through box after box of the fuckers. A pretty costly/expensive task I would imagine and pretty good for a family man on the sick dole with three school boys on the payroll (I’m just digging really because they’re West Ham fans). Strangely however, whereas the noise does not usually bother Snowy (the dog), tonight he acts utterly terrified, which goes against the grain because he is pretty much next to deaf these days. Oh well, it just makes him love us (his owners) that much more.

Millwall v Sunderland is fantastic game, not least because Millwall manage to snap out of a recent slump and win 2-0. The goals come from a Dennis Wise penalty and David Livermore as Josh Simpson really stars, having the game of his life whilst previously being a dubious entity at best.

That ends and from there on it all seems like a standard/usual Friday night watching TV. I lie on my parents’ sofa under a crap blanket and gradually fall asleep whilst watching Monday Night Raw or something.

I fortunately awaken at 2AM, just in time to set a video going to record some John Gotti movie on Channel Five starring Lorraine Bracco. It’s all good. Except for my crap night’s sleep.

np: Buffalo Springfield – For What It’s Worth

2004-11-11T10:32:00.000Z

November 4 (Thursday): Flat-Top Tony And The Purple Canoes. Early doors this morning and it begins with some MSN with/from Phoebe Toronto. No real grand updates from Canada, she’s getting her shit together and wondering what I am up to.

Again this morning I make it into work on time and I’m beginning to feel really proud of myself and my new ability to actually get into work on time (grief). Shouldn’t have bothered, the highlight of the morning is just when I see/catch some bloke writing down the registration numbers of the cars (the partner’s cars) in the car park. If I cared about the rich kids’ cars, I would have confronted him. Being that the cars average twice my annual salary though (and some not that far from the cost of my home/flat), whatever.

And the other highlight of the morning turns out to be the client who looks like Chewbacca, prompting much wookie humour within the office. I text Staff in order to blag a guest place for tonight’s show and mission accomplished, Staff gets me in/on.

At lunchtime I stagger around town doing another lunch on the cheap. Will I always be this poor? Working for this company, I guess I will.

In the afternoon, I have to do my English homework as I have had absolutely no time out of work (at home) to get it done. As it is accountancy related, I have no qualms about spending a spare half hour on it at work (its not as if my bosses have given me enough work to keep me amused for the whole of today). Stevo however takes it upon himself to act like Manager Steve and take exception to this. And come several minutes past five, when I am rushing to print off my work, Steve takes it upon himself to print off a very lengthy set of intercompany balance reports for a group of seven companies. And this is nine copies entering my print queue on my printer. I roll my eyes and put up with it. Eventually with time flying by too much, finally I get him to agree to stop printing off so many copies and when I check print manager, he has set the print count to 99! 99 problems, Christ what a stitch up.

Eventually I get home and have that long needed bath while also burning off a CD for Staff of Polaris and Empire Builder tracks (I like to give something in return to guest list places, especially in the light of being unable to pay the entrance fee/price itself).

Just as I’m leaving the flat for my English class my phone rings. I expect it to be a cold call, especially when the caller asks “is this Mr Graham?”. It actually turns out to be the hospital and admin trying to tie me down for a date for my operation/procedure/circumcision. I don’t want any of this and the woman is trying to tie me into a date for late November. Nope, I don’t fancy going through my exams and Christmas with cock pain and my fella cut to shreds. I manage to get things put off but the big day now gets set for 20 January 2005. I quake in my pants.

I get to my class, almost arriving late. Tonight is a good lesson, we have now moved off poetry onto language/literature which is something I am much more interested in. We are given four examples of contexts to review and these are Raymond Chandler, Graham Greene, CS Lewis and some modern writer called Max Barry. This all seems a bit more in my district of interest.

After class, I head/fly over with Emma to the Arts Centre for the first night of the Full Bleed season of gigs in November. I guest it in and hang out with Adam (Cats Against The Bomb) who is DJing along with Justin (Bad Hand) who is down from London for the show. Also in the house is Richard (Wem) who I used to go to school with.

It’s a strange vibe; Staff and the Arts Centre really manage to make the evening into some kind of event, not least for having words stamped on our hands upon arrival/entry with view to using it as an open door to interact with other types with similar wordings. The people behind this it seems are a group called Frenchmottershead.

The night starts out well when I slightly sozzled Justin says that he wants to make me an offer and invites me to get involved with Bad Hand Records. This is music to my ears because as of late I have really been digging getting involved in music and “the scene” again. I get really excited and almost physically jump for joy.

The first band/act I see tonight are a group called Fast Lady. Just as they start performing I begin a conversation Richard (from school) but soon I am drawn away from that, into the spectacle that is Fast Lady. Fast Lady are three faceless men, robed menacingly like monks or druids but out for a good time. Their spiel and act is akin to a religious sect heavy metal version of Goldie Lookin’ Chain. There is no band or musicians however, all the putrid sound emits from one lone Laptop. And those sounds, they’re the sound of arena rock being sung over in the stylee of Iron Maiden by three clowns onstage. And these clowns sure know how to work an audience, allowing the listener to indulge in things most Donnington without feeling the least bit of guilty pleasure. The three frontmen fronting nothing but bytes act like Def Leppard in a monastery whilst enthusing topics akin to Beavis And Butthead working the crowd into a frenzy akin to the showmanship of Freddie Mercury. The Darkness can suck their cock.

Beyond their set, I resume my conversation with my old school chum. Its laboured and freaking as yet once more I suffer from Friends Reunited flashbacks in the same way that Rambo would flashback to ‘Nam.

Fortunately such a rut is broken when a shabbily dressed gentleman takes to the stage. He looks a right mess and therefore is obviously a student. He mentions Nigel Planer and announces to the crowd that he is going to do some poetry. The man is called Richard Dedomenici resembles a young/healthy Rik Mayall and creates an obvious Comic Strip vibe, like twenty years previous in Soho. I actually warm to the guy as his deadpan delivery and nonchalance cracks me up and he accomplishes the feat of actually making me laugh out loud when he declares “I am so desperate, I’ve been putting rohypnol in my own drinks”. Ultimately the guy has a real hard crowd to work on and does it with a sarcastic smirk of aggression, which later scares me away from approaching him. God he was good.

Late on, the headliners take the place. And the headliners resemble a man in a pig mask acting rather fucking pissed off at the world. V/VM hail from Leeds but resemble nothing akin to the pikey punk scene that the Fracture hailing Leeds6 scene ever produced. Instead, here is a solo artist looking to confront each and every person in the audience. Things begin fairly well/even tempered as the man introduces himself to the crowd and speaks highly of our blessed town but still this is a man with a pig mask attached tightly to his face telling you that tonight he wants to be Elton John. V/VM announces that tonight will be their/his last show “for a while” and so tonight (Matthew) he WILL be Elton John. And with that he launches into Nikita, the first of three scheduled tunes for the evening. All audio emits from another laptop and basically the gig/show/set appears to have started out as a man in a pig mask (I realise I’m laboured that point) doing karaoke. And this turns out to be the point that the world and its audience realises just how fucking LONG Elton John songs are. The first track becomes a gruel, a torture and when it ceases, we all breath a sigh of relief. However, this is not it as Mr Pigface proceeds to nose around in the rest of Mr John’s back catalogue. All finger crossed for Candle In The Wind promptly uncross as something unrecognisably Elton comes darting out of the PA. Interest begins to wane but then fortunately V/VM also appears to gets bored of all this shit and abandons the song halfway, choosing instead to rev up the Ace Of Spades and proceed to jump/fly off the stage and writhe about on the dancefloor of the venue like a human hoover for several minutes, tearing up a huge air of tension, unease and even fear throughout the crowd. By the time the track ends, the man in the pig mask is just lying there, passed out or passed away; we can all but mass debate. Braver members of the audience than I begin prodding the body with sticks and eventually he rises and his Northern accent slips into the microphone “I needed that”. The set now continues with a distinct air of unease but also one of confusion, feasibly causing it all to fall flat. You sense this is noted on stage as V/VM disappears backstage for a few minutes only to return with members of Fast Lady, fully robed for a good (fast) time. The set really gets back into its groove when Eye Of The Tiger gets requested by an audience in the know and suddenly the sight of a skinny man in a pig mask punching the air and ground, drumming up an audience adds to only more surrealist sensations, Clubber Lang. From there, the set only moves into further absurdity as V/VM and Fast Lady mingle amongst the crowd for some audience participation and general goodwill to man, all against a backdrop of the soundtrack to hell. By the time they return to the stage, the freakshow is dancing to a heavily distorted version of “Grandpa We Love You” which then later transforms into Michael Jackson’s “Earth Song” and a performance straight out of the Brit Awards as all artists involved take their time out to hug and greet every single member of the audience inside the church. It is such a good job that Jarvis Cocker was not around to ruin the cheer. For a finale, nope these guys were not finished, all calls around were made for the entire audience to get on stage. Obviously many (certain) members of the audience take very little persuasion in complying but others show somewhat more restraint, looking over at security as if to ask “is this true? Is this all right?”. Like sheep dogs and herders, gradually the good time boys round everyone up on stage, at times having to physically carry and dump screaming young ladies (Emma) on the stage. I come SO close to avoiding the stage but eventually, the druids catch me and persuade me to stand onstage like a lemon as the (now) band does its performance on the dance floor as it all gets recorded on camcorder and crowd goons fly around like insane patients, like a scene from The Cramps movie of the show set in a mental facility. Management and security look really uneasy as I look equally uneasy as the stage beneath my feet begins to quake and I fear for my wellbeing. God only alone knows what song we all find ourselves participating in as the whole artist/listener barrier gets broken down in the name of extreme audience participation, the best example being of Staff (the promoter and Blitter) somewhere, somehow cracking his fucking head open and bleeding profusely down his cranium. Not before time (but before the stage gives way) the set ends with a ghastly silence, everyone (sober) feeling shocked and sober, wondering if that really really is it.

I come away shellshocked and impressed that things like this still happen in live music. Selfishly, I observe as Staff is advised to A&E for his headwound and I scarper before a request is put in for a lift to the hospital, hey I don’t want fucking blood all over my car. I do however make sure I say “good night” to the blood, to which he responds “yeah, see ya, take care of yourself”. Insania.

np: The Constantines – National Hum

2004-11-11T10:31:00.000Z

November 3 (Wednesday): Oh, You Men. This morning I wake up bamboozled. I really should not have stayed up so late last night, especially when you consider that at even 7AM this morning the election hasn’t actually fucking finished!!! Still though, Bush is in the lead and looking the safe bet for victory.

I MSN with Sara a bit, a general “how are you?” bit to compensate for my general nonversation skills last night (this morning).

This morning I just about make it into work on time (thank god the mornings are light once more) and it is all to the soundtrack of Destiny’s Child on Moyles.

I finally get back into some real work, picking a job off Drew called Acme Drinks which will now need an audit and Drew has barely touched. All morning this is to the soundtrack of Stevo whinging.

Mid morning Ivan comes over and asks what we are doing for lunch. Nothings planned but something gets planned when a Pizza Hut buffet is suggested. I can’t really afford it but I have a hunger.

By the time lunchtime comes around, it has become apparent that Bush has won the election and suddenly people appear to be repeating my nihilistic view attitude to the result of a harmless puppet that is Bush (others are pulling the strings and running that country) versus the zero charisma worryingly unrevealed non-entity that became Kerry.

Lunchtime at Pizza Hut becomes an experience. Inside it is literally rammed and just ahead of us is the stuck up Asian from Butt Road who fit and knows it. Unsurprisingly I over eat, looking to cover both meals for the day. Talk is cheap and stunted between the three of us unfortunately, some days it just does not seem to flow. We leave unfulfilled, making a stop off at WH Smith where this months Loaded is out.

The afternoon flies by without event and when I get home in the evening I flick through this month’s Loaded and it is actually a good one for a change, complete with great articles on Millwall playing away in Ferencvaros and an article on dead wrestlers (yeah, I had noticed their high volume also).

In the evening I arse about the flat, beginning to watch John Kerry’s throwing in the towel speech and falling asleep, once more only confirming how he just did not cut it and that Bush did not win the election, Kerry lost the election.

As soon as I wake up, I realise I have to food in the flat so I stagger out to Asda. With my priorities correctly set in place I find myself immediately heading to the DVD section to have a look at what’s out. As I turn away uninterested I catch glimpse of a girl/lady/woman in the payment queue looking over smiling. She is actually quite hot and I smile back and walk off and get my food. Tonight this lady has performed a great service to humanity by really lifting my spirits and making me feel good and optimistic. There is hope. Such a little gesture, such a huge impression.

As I drive home there is this fantastic in session on the radio and it turns out to be the Go! Team. It completely matches my mood/morale.

I get home to scoff some really bad/unhealthy chocolate and peanut cereal. I really should be doing last year’s advance paper in order to send off to BPP to get marked but instead, feeling minging, I run a bath for a clean body and a clean mind, which I ultimately/eventually do not manage to get into. I MSN for a bit with Richard before diving in.

At 9PM the Fear programme comes on BBC2. Its really interesting, like Michael Moore without the arrogant/egotistical fat guy. It does however foul up when it compares Al-Quaida with the Mafia. Not really, isn’t the Mafia generally locally driven “organisation” and a more true/honest operation not driven (apparently) by religion and not mastered/managed/run by insane nuts. Also, the Mafia has style and actually comes over cool (albeit at the same time being cunts) whereas Al-Quaida are terrorists. And like all terrorists, insane fanatics.

Arrested Development comes on and as usual it is fantastic but it actually cannot be that great this evening because I fall asleep (once more) watching it. When I reawaken around 12.30, Jaws 2 is on TV. Gnarly. I check my computer and Sara is online but she’s wasted effort wasted time against the event of sleep.

np: The Go! Team – Huddle Formation

2004-11-11T10:20:00.000Z

November 2 (Tuesday): Druggachusettes.

BLITTERS INTERVIEW

Today Marceline put up the fantastic interview with Allen from The Blitters on Diskant (click here). However she removed some links in a tidy up and shortened the intro, so here's the longwinded version of the interview:

"In 2002 a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Colchester Essex underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as musicians of fortune. If you have a problem with music, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire THE BLITTERS."

With “punishing, hyper-fast beats; piercing, overdriven, cheap synths; random MIDI sequences; senseless rants; frequencies that can only be heard by diseased animals; unlistenable, nausea-inducing noise”, for the past two years now the best kept secret in independent/underground music has been nestling itself away in deepest darkest Colchester, being the most exciting force to hit the area’s music scene since forever, the lightning rod and driving force for the latest episode of the Colchester music community. One lone Canadian stands tall “yet another man forced away from his homeland due to the dire lack of a creative industry and possibly because he owes money on a student loan, to which the government lawyers have already found him and are now continuing their furious quest to dismantle his life”. This is the world of The Blitters and Allen Zuk.

The Blitters live shows originally consisted of one man against the elements screaming over a drum machine, a pickled stew of Bill Hicks, Throbbing Gristle, Suicide and Big Black mix movements coupled with a stuffed explosion onstage of grapes (eating your brains) and equal servings of triffle smearing across one’s shirt and spray paint mustard over one’s chest. The first two sets saw supports to the Liars and the Catheters, both assaults a declaration of more than holding ones own whilst ghost riding through society.

At a later date the current bass player of Extreme Noise Terror (Staff Glover) saw himself added to the ranks as onstage antics propelled to the destruction of entire PCs (personal computers not police constables) and stabs at the audience with smoke machines and silly string. A true war against technology waged to the soundtrack of tunes progressively getting harder and old punk garage standards being electrified and electrofied in the process.

This past summer however the secret came out. The long muted debut single “Eating Your Brains” (on Bad Hand Records) found itself released (following several criminally ignored disco plate demos) and John Peel scooped it, ate it up and spat it out on the Radio One night time listening public. Just as things appear to be heading overground (slightly), Allen Zuk has decided to return home to Canada (Toronto) to plan his next era in existence. Here is one last address to the British nation as Allen boards a big plane to Toronto, a genuine wingwalker.

Questions for The Blitters

How did the Blitters come about to being?
A: The original idea came about when I was very young, probably about 14 or 15 years old. I made tapes with an old keyboard, a small disco mixer and a reverb unit, all from Radio Shack. The songs were basically hardcore synth punk and I had plans to release a demo cassette under the name ‘the Corrupted’. I gave up on this soon after when I was able to afford a guitar and start a regular band.

About 15 years later in the spring of 2002 I found myself out of a job. I had been away from music for a while, and was hearing some interesting new stuff at gigs in Colchester and London as well as on MP3s from sites such as Epitonic. I had been playing in a garage rock band back in Canada for a few years in the ‘90s and I wanted to do something that would offend garage rock and traditional punk fans and excite open-minded music fans. I spent several weeks writing and recording stuff, the result of which was the July 2002 demo.

I put together a few copies of the demo and sent it to certain venues and promoters whom I figured would respond well to it. One of these venues was the Colchester Arts Centre, and as Stafford Glover is a full-time employee there he was one of the first people to hear it. I was looking for a bass player and he expressed an interest so after I had played a few nerve-wracking solo gigs in Colchester, London and Manchester I asked him to become a permanent member of the band. Thankfully he accepted.

What were your previous music endeavours like?
A: When I was very young I wanted to be a DJ so I guess learning to mix hip hop and Top 40 12” singles was my first creative contact with music, and inspired me to try making music myself. My first musical compositions have been described in the previous answer. In the late ‘80s to the early ‘90s I sang and played guitar in a hardcore punk band and played various instruments in several other weird one-off projects. As mentioned I also played bass and sang backup in a garage rock band for a few years in the mid-to-late ‘90s.

What is your songwriting process and how do you record?
A: I often compose lyrics and music separately, and each element has got to be busting out of me – I really have to be inspired or I won’t have the energy to finish the song. Many songs just come to me when I’m doing something else. For example, the lyrics to ‘Eating Your Brains’ just about wrote themselves in my head while I was in the bath, and I had to jump out and write them down before I forgot them.

Once I have a first draft of the song and the lyrics, I make a copy of the backing track for Staff to listen to, and then he adds bass parts during band practice as we flesh out the song. Then I make a few changes after that stage to get the song just right.

Most of the beats and much of the synths are programmed on the computer. We record everything else to the computer as well using an analogue-to-digital converter, but we use various amps, pedals and other devices to get the vocal, bass and synth sounds we are looking for in each song. The process varies depending on whether we are constructing the backing track for our live gigs or a track to be released on CD or vinyl.

How much does coming from a computer background assist/effect your music?
A: There is a lot less time and money spent in the composing and recording process than there was before. For musicians, owning a computer now is much like owning your own four-track recorder was back in the ‘80s or early ‘90s, but with incredibly powerful benefits. Still, I think I’m more influenced by my punk rock background and my environment than I am by my computer use.

What have your gig experiences been like?
A: Varied, to say the least. Mostly good fun, but personally I hate most aspects of playing live gigs, and I suffer from ridiculous stage fright, so I can usually only appreciate our live shows after the fact.

What have been the most notable bands that you have played with?
A: Playing the first ever gig with Liars was an immense honour – they are a great live band and probably one of the top ten rock bands in the world right now. I think the most exciting and intimidating was Joan of Ass in Manchester, and Gobsausage in Nottingham was also certainly very memorable. However, my favourite band to play with is Cats Against the Bomb and if we can play all of our gigs with him, we will.

What has been the absolute highlight of performing as The Blitters?
A: That would be impossible for me to say for sure without wanting to change my answer later on, but the first gig with Staff in Ipswich stands out for me. I also liked the Poison Club in London, although this was easily our worst ever show. Another major ‘highlight’ was getting the first show over with and being able to show my face again in public, thanks to the encouragement of my wife.

How does the music scene here differ from Canada? (What are the main differences?)
A: For many years Canada’s music scene has been severely disjointed and marred by greedy, selfish and backward thinking on the part of most musicians and promoters, and I think this has been the case ever since the early 1990s when musicians and the North American music industry discovered you could make money out of ‘weird’ music. The alternative media (local arts weeklies, campus/community radio and Brave New Waves on CBC Radio One) have worked hard to maintain the spirit of underground culture, but much of this has been co-opted by rich kids or university students who use their musical ‘tastes’ as a fashion accessory, and who show great disdain for music that doesn’t sound like something they have already heard over and over again. Still, I am inspired by some of what I’m seeing so far in Toronto, and have been hearing out of many other cities, so I think the spirit is coming back again. People are rediscovering the joy of DIY culture.

From what I can tell the situation is much the same in the UK. Fans of original music and ideas are finally leaving the ‘alternative music industry’ behind and founding real bands, fanzines, labels and clubs. Throughout the history of popular music the UK has always had the strongest new music scene and I suspect that the best of the new breed may be yet to come, although a lot of the current young bands are already simply incredible. In contrast to the earnestness and positive approach of the Canadian music press, however, most of the UK media is just awful and nasty, aside from a few champions of creative spirit such as John Peel. And, say what you will about the NME, but much of the independent publications and promoters are just as concerned with trends and supporting only the ‘correct’ new acts. It is apparent that many of London’s top club nights are established by egotistical people in retaliation to being excluded from other top club nights, and the same goes for a great many record labels and fanzines. Many of these are slaves to mainstream press coverage; entire ‘underground’ musical movements spring up in response to NME articles. Having said that, the most important point is that the mainstream media in the UK can be cracked by just about anyone, whereas the glass ceiling is still very strong in North America. This alone may be why the UK produces such consistently strong music, but I suspect there may be deeper cultural and historical factors at work.

Campus (or community) radio is a good outlet for original music in Canada -- the charts are based on airplay rather than sales. Most of the stuff that dominates these campus radio charts is on the mainstream charts in the UK, except for the Canadian bands that really do benefit from airplay on campus stations.

What have been the biggest obstacles facing The Blitters?
A: My own ineptitude as a musician, I guess. Seriously, we haven’t hit any obstacles in the UK. The goal from the beginning was to write some songs, play some shows, release a record and get it on national radio, and we’ve done all that. And I should point out that if it wasn’t for all the people in East Anglia, London and other parts of the country who have helped us out in so many ways none of this would have been possible. As much as I bitch and moan in Blitters songs about the state of the world and human nature, there are many kind and open-minded people in the world, and luckily for us, a lot of them like crazy music.

Generally, is it essential to be creative? (Have a form of expression?)
A: For me it is. I think that everyone who is able should contribute something meaningful to his or her environment, and I think this must consist of something more than just going to work and getting pissed at weekends. Most people don’t contribute anything either because they think their job is important enough, or because they think financial stability will get them the happiness they seek, but they are wrong. I’m not saying this because I think it is some sort of biological or spiritual imperative, I just think that it is easy to see the difference it makes in people’s lives and their immediate surroundings.

What advice would you have for other performers?
A: As soon as an idea strikes you, write it down, refine it, then just go out and fucking do it. Don’t listen to the people who think you must have the ‘right’ equipment or any kind of training – you don’t. In fact it is better if you don’t. Also, don’t assume that everyone will be interested in what you have to offer. You will gain a lot more by sending out four or five demos with personalised letters to only the people you think are most likely to be interested than you will by spamming every record label, club and promoter on earth. If nobody gets back to you, too bad. You’ll just have to self-release your stuff and book your own gigs – if you don’t care enough to do this then your idea obviously wasn’t good enough in the first place. Remember this is as much or more about self-expression as it is about entertainment.

All apologies but is Allen Zuk your real name?
A: Yes.

Culturally, how have you found the UK to differ to Canada?
A: When I first moved to Colchester from Canada I noticed an awful lot of obvious differences – mainly language-based – but after a few months I figured everything was pretty similar. Now that I have lived over there for four years, while still visiting Canada once or twice a year, I think it is drastically different. There are just so many social nuances that vary from one country to another and when you are a foreigner people just tolerate your mistakes (or take the piss out of you behind your back, in the case of London), so it takes a long time to understand what you are doing wrong, or indeed that you are even doing anything wrong. I have become acutely aware of many of these differences and have found that in many cases I am simply unable to alter the way I socialise. This drives me nuts because I have always been fanatical about clarity in language and communication, but I have had to come to terms with the constant possibility of being misunderstood.

In short, the differences are too numerous and complicated to explain or even list. People are just going to have to travel and find out for themselves!

What are you current listening tastes and what are your favourite forms/styles of music?
A: My tastes change as frequently as my moods. Right now (September 2004) I am really excited by the new breed of electronic and punk music across the UK and particularly in London. Electronic music is getting more unpredictable all the time, as is rock music, but what is really interesting in my opinion is that the barriers between electronic and guitar-based music have crumbled in a way that is very exciting and a little bit different from anything that has happened before – especially in that it doesn’t sound awful. The underground rock and electronic scenes are finally beginning to overlap in North America as well and I think the Dirtbombs/ADULT. split single may mark an interesting turning point over here.

I have always enjoyed bands or performers who try new things at the risk of humiliation or put on unpredictable live shows and while London or Berlin may be the hub of that type of activity, it is beginning to happen everywhere, including Canada. I’ve seen a little bit of interesting stuff here in Toronto already but not enough to talk about yet.

I listen to a lot of earlier music, like traditional jazz, rock, punk, metal, prog, electro-style hip hop and any experimental or indie stuff that I can find on the Web or hear on the radio, new and old. At the risk of sounding like a pretentious twat, I will admit that I really get a thrill out of the way music is used in films, like at the end of Ingmar Bergman’s To Joy or the beginning or Gaspar Noé’s Irréversible – I am still surprised when the combination of a story and a soundtrack makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Music videos can do that to a lesser extent as well I guess.

What are you plans for the future both musically and personally?
A: I want to see how Canada receives the single, and if it goes OK we will try to book a Blitters tour here for the spring of 2005, hopefully with Cats Against the Bomb. By that time I hope to have the new album done. If we still feel like it, and if people still want to see us, we might do some UK dates in the summer. After that, I think I’ll be ready to wrap it up. I will probably still make music and DJ a bit but I’d like to quit performing. I look way too much like a creepy old shop class teacher up there already.

Questions by Jason Graham

http://www.theblitters.com/
http://www.badhand.co.uk/

2004-11-11T10:07:00.000Z

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

2004-11-11T10:05:00.000Z

November 1 (Monday): Heaven's Chimney. I wake up on the first of the month, escaping from another freaky dream about work with Lindsey hugging up to Jack in order to get around him and get her way whilst I get the shaft. Maybe this is some kind of subconscious reference to the budget system at work.

This morning I crawl out of bed and I am cold! Just before I leave for work, I receive a last morning email and it is from Allen Blitters he has just read my mention of Fitz Of Depression on my blog and is getting in touch saying “hi” and commiserating about my impending surgery without even knowing what it involves. Oh dear.

The email ensures that I am slightly late turning up to work, almost making it in on time. It is Monday morning however and the very best I can achieve is a bronze medal for lateness.

I find myself dicking about at work for work. Three people have told me about jobs I can do but none of them are actually forthcoming with the goods. I have a number of jobs sat on my desk started but the biz is just not there to get them finished. I make phonecalls towards getting something completed but ultimately it doesn’t get me anywhere, sometimes some of our clients just are not equipped to deal with the most basic of bookkeeping and record retaining that it is a necessary evil of the job that we have to make certain estimates. There is a fine crossing line/level as to when this needs to occur and management have their bar set a lot higher than mine but generally after a few weeks of pursuing/chasing records/information we wind up back at step one where I had taken a job in the first place, unfortunately having wasted time in the process. I can’t help but think if there was a little more confidence surrounding myself, all this would be avoided.

This morning Alan is knocking about, so I talk to him at length and it really sounds like his little ‘un has improved but is still going through hell.

At lunchtime, I perform lunch on a budget, wandering into town with Steve and Louise. When we pass a costume shop taking down Halloween trinkets I point at a skeleton display and go “look, it’s Lindsey”. Stevo laughs his arse off but I am such an arsehole at times.

My afternoon is filled with Stevo telling me how he is the most cerebral person in the office. This coming from a person that insists on calling me arrogant! And like a dog with a bone (not phone) he doesn’t let this go. Eventually I have enough of all this and reel off a list of jobs/clients that he has performed that have experienced many hic-cups. He points out that all these jobs are clients of Who but then he shuts up and gives me some peace for the afternoon.

Who actually comes over (in fine fettle) to Chernobyl at one point in the afternoon, telling me how happy the guy at Acme Maintenance in Mildenhall is and how he thinks the daughter fancies me. I snap back sarcastically “really?” but he seems to think that I am being serious and begins to backtrack, seemingly worried I might try it on or something.

Stevo starts up again late afternoon, so my retort this time around to begin calling him “Stig”. The day ends with me spending all hours pottering around on an existing job, Acme Newsagent which is just around the corner from where I live, and I don’t really accomplish anything as by the fifth day of working on the most incomplete of records, it has reached needle in a haystack time.

Stevo doesn’t give me a lift home tonight, he works late. Or maybe my Stig comments hurt home.

I get home with the intention of putting a full evening into study. I pick up the books and scratch the surface but then another presidential TV show comes on Channel Four and I find myself transfixed. Why aren’t politics in this country as glamorous and interesting? And then this slips into satire as Dead Ringers shows the funniest comedy stuff about the election so far, not least for the guy impersonating Michael Moore doing an expose on Michael Moore. They have him down.

Early doors and I fall asleep before 10PM only to be awakened by Sara on MSN. She begins telling me about some 18 year old Australian that she is currently knocking about with called Jason (Freudian). Apparently this weekend they are going to the woods to shot at cats. That is so redneck. I ask her if she has ever seen the movie Gummo and obviously she hasn’t. If she had seen the film, then I’m sure she wouldn’t be going to the woods to fire at cats.

Richard also comes on MSN, having just got in from the London show The Evens are doing on this tour. As expected (and unsurprisingly) Richard reports that The Evens are shit. From what I have heard and seen on the net, it is arty boring bollocks in the name of being a tunesmith. Seems another old hero is fading away as Ian Mackaye becomes too old to do Fugazi.

Whilst talking on MSN, I find myself wandering into looking at (watching) incomplete porno files I am downloading of the weirdest stuff. I also find myself downloading Nine Inch Nails and Fudge Tunnel MP3s for some reason. I guess I have slipped into Fudge Tunnel mode because I read tonight that Alex Newport produced the latest Ikara Colt record which sent memories flooding back to the cold Saturday night spent at the Soundhouse last year when Allen dragged us all down to see the band (who actually turned out to be really good in the end).

I also received an email from a lady in America called Leslie. She does this blog called She Said What? which I think is fantastic. She tells me that she has read some of my blog and that I make England sound really “appealing”. I wouldn’t have said/thought that.

I go back to TV and Father Ted tonight is the “Speed 4” episode, which is always good for yuks. Following, tonight on The Sopranos is the “Long Term Parking” episode which I half heartedly watch as I continue talking bollocks on MSN with Sara, now to the point of telling her she will shoot her foot off if she touches a gun and that I think she is more likely to wind up humping this boy in the woods rather than actually shoot any cats.

Past midnight and Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Sex is on BBC 1. For some reason, this is one of three Woody Allen films on terrestrial this week. Has he passed away or something? Whatever, this is probably one of my least favourite Allen films but I still half heartedly watch it as I struggle to get back to sleep and, for the longest time, fail to do so.

np: Velvet Underground – Beginning To See The Light

2004-11-11T09:37:00.000Z

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

2004-11-11T09:36:00.001Z

October 30 (Saturday): Throwing Punches. Wow, this morning I wake up feeling utterly rank. I awaken to the new Bin Laden video on BBC News. Will these people please put some money into their television/media budget (perhaps take a little out of the pilot training program). How on earth are we supposed to take any message from this man seriously when it appears to be taped onto third generation Betamax video cassettes in front of a studio set that the BBC probably used on their first television broadcast back in 1936. The man tires me and just sends me straight back to bed. YES OSAMA WE ALL KNOW YOU’RE BUSH’S MATE, MICHAEL MOORE TOLD US.

Mid morning I murmur after sitting staring at the idiot box and internet. In order to justify my laziness I pull out the DVD Slackers that I bought in the summer and to date couldn’t be arsed to watch (those fuckers think their slackers? Nothing on me). The movie turns out to be arse and I sleep through a good (bad) portion of it. I only watch the movie really because I read in Hotdog that Jason Schwartzmann gives a scene stealing performance but to be honest, I’d probably be able to give a scene stealing performance in this donkey. And the guy who played Big Pete in Pete And Pete is horribly cheesy. Basically the only redeeming quality of this flick is the ginger bird from That 70s Show (Laura Prepon) looking rather “big” and attractive.

I shake all this off and manage to get out and get the newspapers.

When I return I MSN some with Tom, to find out how his meeting with his lady in London went. It sounds like it went good/well but it sounds like everyone is trying to give Tom all this really bad advice about the situation as he overanalyses things to death (I recognise these traits in my actions). I think I may help when I point out the positive version of the just plain obvious, also advising that people giving Tom advice are probably reflecting themselves onto him/his situation. I also remind him however that I shouldn’t be listened to, being an “unmarried marriage counsellor”.

The morning turns into afternoon and I remain slack, even too impatient to the point that I begin watching incomplete video downloads. I’ve decided to make something of routine now of watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 on Saturdays (shit, who wants to go out and actually have a life?). I watch an episode I once on the Sci-Fi Channel many moons ago (back in the day of living at home and having Sky). The episode/movie is called “The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living And Became Mixed-Up Zombies!!?” and is beyond description, horribly cheap and hammy. However Mike and the robots do not fail to deliver and rip the piss out of all on screen in the funniest way. Again I laugh out loud and discover a sense of humour still inside of me.

Something sends me to sleep after this, I have managed to muster a minor headache up from somewhere (the one I woke up with). A funeral of sores. The afternoon sees me sitting on my arse, listening to the football on internet radio. Today Millwall are at Stoke, which is a hard game and cannot be a fixture Millwall can expect to get anything from (especially judging things based on Tuesday). Once more Millwall have been in the news all week so I bet down in Stoke, they’re really welcomed with both arms wide open. In the end Millwall lose an apparent scrap as Stoke score in the 86th minute and Millwall go down to yet another fucking late goal.

At this point, having developed a right proper headache from doing absolutely nothing with myself, I decide I can’t be arsed to go out this evening.

Around 5PM my mind wanders again, as once more I take painkillers (my drug of choice) for my headache brought on by doing absolutely nothing. And as I listen to internet radio (post match reports) I hear a tune in the distance. “What the fuck’s that?”. It turns out to be the Godfather ringtone on my mobile and Richard calling; my god has it really been so long that I have forgotten how my ringtone goes? Dude rings me up and tells me that he and Justin and currently stood outside the Gap and he is asking me “when the hell did that appear?”. “Been there a while. We’ve got a Costa now too!”. Basically Colchester’s co-opting is one step short of completion, we now just lack a Starbucks. Richard asks me “where do you (one) go for a drink in Colchester these days?”. I dunno, so boringly I say “Hogshead” and I leave immediately.

By the time I hook up with Richard and Justin my head (mind) is thoroughly caning but I tear into a pint of Carlsberg (almost a Stella) figuring it will either make my head better or worse. It’s a kamikaze mission.

We hook up with Staff at the Arts Centre and it turns out that I fucking forgot the Extreme Noise Terror show on Thursday, which turns me very sheepish. Staff looks absolutely ravaged from the touring/playing experience that is Extreme Noise Terror. We get some food, opting for The Noodle Bar once Hub denies us (they stop serving food at 7PM for future reference). Inside Hub however I see the weirdest thing, a tubby girl that looks almost exactly like Phoebe staring at me. What’s the about? The Noodle Bar turns out to be more accommodating as we are given entry and we tuck into the finest cuisine in town (ha ha). I go for the beef option with my general swagger of “if these fuckers are veggies/vegans, then it is there problem”. Despite my sarcasm, I really enjoy my food but I’ll be fucked if I can actually eat noodles with chopsticks (I have a real complex since Phoebe told me I hold/held them wrongly). All the way through the meal Staff tells us more stuff about Extreme Noise Terror and V/VM, he is actually the best at telling music tales.

We return to the Arts Centre where Justin and Richard are co-promoting and doing a Bad Hand Records DJ set. I blag my way along and manage to get in for free (I love a freebie).

I hang around with Richard and Justin as they DJ and select tracks and I have never felt so out of the loop, I really do not know any of these bands/acts/songs. Earlier in the week Richard emailed a list of songs he was intending to DJ and when I downloaded the majority of them, they sounded like nothing I had heard.

As we wait for the first act, I see who I think is Dom Gentry who used to drum in Hirameka and it is him. I wave and he comes over and Dom is flying, he is cooler and friendlier than I think he ever was back in the days of Gringo. He tells me how he has been living in Sheffield and is now back in Halstead. He tells me how is now into programming breaks and when he was working as a promoter in Sheffield he hooked up with the likes of Adam Freeland and Blameless. It turns out that Dom is now really into music, perhaps with more enthusiasm than any other remaining member of Hirameka. That or he can really sell himself these days.

In the distance I see Adam from Cats Against The Bombs turn up with his brother Doug just as the opening act Calaco begins his set. Calaco is actually Jo Searles, one of the longest standing and most enthusiastic members of the Colchester music scene. Jo’s Calaco act is part of the Mutebox collective in Colchester that performs various experimental music events. Calaco turns out to be Jo playing solo with four guitars perched behind him, each ready to go. Jo is kitted out! Often during his set of quiet guitar pieces he is able to stop playing as his pedals take over and carry on the tune without him. On a night of headaches and hangovers, this is one of the better ways to start out.

After his set, I go over and see Adam and pretty much spend the remainder of the night hanging out with him and Staff at their table.

The second band on the bill is called Historia and they appear to stick out like a sore thumb in the middle of this bill. I have never previously heard of this band but they play reminding me of The Verve song “Life’s An Ocean”, back when Richard Ashcroft actually seemed to be making an effort. It’s a weird set, the band fail to set any worlds alight tonight but do do a commendable job with their set whilst battling such elements as equipment failure and having a singer that looks like the singer from Puddle Of Mudd whilst the cheaply besuited guitarist looks like a refugee from the Flaming Lips. Their drummer also looks fantastically bored through the duration of the set, he is hilarious without realising it. I take in their set thinking mainly of Jeff Buckley type music and fortunately for me, after their set Adam mentions the same. The band turn out to be ok but I am always going to be a sucker for someone playing with a slide and making a guitar sound like flight on an aeroplane.

I have to admit when Rothko turn up with an hour left before curfew, I live in a sense of dread, not really feeling any enthuse for their set. However the set turns out to be one of the most enjoyable I have seen/heard in a very long time. The is a real aura surrounding the band as they plough through a bass heavy/no guitar set complete with eerie violin sections. It all seems to have an organic, natural weather as generally post rock tends to consist of musical soundscapes that can often be compared to elements of moody weather. And Rothko are capable of performing this in abundance as they fill the venue with soothing sonics that clear my head and actually make for the perfect Saturday night of wanting to be easy. As the violinist switches to bass guitar (the third on the stage) the songs sound somewhat more tempered and the whole set contains a real air seriousness without going too far and becoming some kind of tainted affair of music snobbery. As the end comes to a genuinely mesmerising set, I find myself an honest fan of Rothko.

After the show we hang out at length and Staff asks me if I want to DJ at this week’s Full Bleed show (1 of 4) this Thursday with V/VM. Unfortunately I have my English class but Adam says he’ll do a Cats Against The Bomb DJ set which is likely to be warped and twisted as can be. In the end, I manage to get myself a spot DJing at the Macrocosmica show (YES!!!). At the end of the night, I get invited back to the aftershow at Staff’s but still finding semi rough and on a real high from the most enjoyable evening/gig I have been to in weeks, I quite while I am ahead.

Unfortunately, when I get to my car parked on Crouch Street, as I am half way home, I notice that my fucking driver’s side wing mirror is dangling off a cable. Someone has fucked my Focus! Evening ruined. I get home and inspect my car but find I can’t see shit as it is now pitch-black dark. I do however manage to cut my finger on some of the glass from the mirror that has been smashed. I go upstairs to bed, dreading just what state I am going to find my car in tomorrow morning in the light of day.

Late night Saturday night TV turns out to be pretty whack as some strange Minnie Driver movie called The Governess is on. I just cannot work out what is going on, what she is about and what fucking year/place it is set in. Insania. And then the next movie up is the TV movie version of The Great Gatsby starring the goddess Mira Sorvino. F. Scott Fitzgerald would fuck gone mental if he ever saw what they had made of his masterpiece. This version of the novel makes Andy Kaufman’s reading of it look good. I sleep.

np: Dean Martin - Volare

2004-11-11T09:35:00.000Z

October 29 (Friday): Speak And Spell. Today begins with the foulest mood and it starts out so bad. I awaken at 7AM and outside it is still dark and I am still fucking tired. So, what is there to do? Curl back up back to sleep. I eventually murmur around 7.30 and Sara hits me on MSN. As I type, reply to her shit with barely one eye open she wonders why I’m not acting shitty and being sarcastic while she goes on and on about this new furry coat that she has bought and can claim back from work. Things hit a low point when she mentions the poppers on the coat and I go “you like poppers” and she calls me “gay boy”. At this point I probably ask if I can bugger her and she tells me “no” and accuses me of getting in a strop because she says she won’t have sex with me. Whatever, I can currently barely open my eyes let alone my pants/trousers at the moment. We begin telling eachother to “fuck off” and she tells me to leave her alone this morning and I go “maybe I should leave you alone full stop”. She logs off but comes back for seconds and thirds, accusing me of being an “arrogant self-obsessed prick” (not for the first time) and I begin to wonder “really, what is it that I do wrong?”. She also adds “you can really be hurtful sometimes”. I tell her that “I’m sorry” and she says “you don’t mean that” so ultimately I can’t win any fucking way in which I play it. And in the meantime, this is really consuming time and eventually I only manage to get out/leaving for work at 8.55.

When I get into work, I wander around like the waking dead. Looking out of the window of Chernobyl I swear that I see Woody Allen drive past in a car and then a woman walks past that looks exactly like Peter Cook (except female of course).

At lunchtime, the hallowed pay cheque (no BACs for us) is taken into town and banked. I breath a sigh of relief as I have just managed not to go over my £1400 overdraft limit and Natwest will be off my back for another four weeks (until next month when I go over because the insurance cheque will hit). Generally on pay day some of us all go for a meal and today’s eatery of choice is the Marquis once more. I manage to ponce lunch of Stevo again (like a proper deadbeat) in exchange for him tearing out a picture of Millwall (well, Liverpool) crowd violence from Tuesday out of The Sun (seems I make better deals than Trump).

The afternoon is a general Friday afternoon, everyone working on half arsed efforts and people whinging about pay vs the budget blah blah blah. When five o’clock the usual thing of timing the girls leaving against the exact time on the speaking clock gets performed and tonight the girls are late leaving, the speaking clock beeping at 5.00.20 (5 o’clock, no minutes and twenty seconds). Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.

After work, Stevo drags me into town looking for an apology gift for the staff the Bricklayers Arms in Wimbledon where a couple of weeks Stevo went on the rampage. Sadly for him he fails to find an apt gift or card (although an Alan Titchmarsh calendar almost does the trick. Oh my, if I had to buy a gift every time I upset people when I was pissed, I’d be handing/giving out more gifts than Father Christmas. For my troubles though, Stevo gives me a lift home and it’s the start of my Friday night!

When I get home I find my broadband download booty for the day and there is a video file called “SNL Funhouse – Mr T”. Jesus, some fiend has taken the eighties Mr T cartoon and re-edited it to make T look like an out of work, confused, crackpot who accuses everyone of being guilty. It’s fucking hilarious!

Now, most people save themselves up for Friday nights and proceed to do it large. Myself however, I wind up playing FIFA 2005 on Playstation 2 once more and I finally win the Championship as Millwall in league mode on Semi-pro level (wanker). I finish the season 27-10-9 (W-D-L) with goals at 81-44 (F-A) with 91 points with second place on 76 points. Satisfying? Well it means I am able to unlock Collina as a referee! Fuck me I need to grow up and get a girlfriend.

And it seems I’m not the only one as I find Acton online on a Friday night also and he sounds grumpier than I am (remember, I just won the Championship!). He tells me how all his housemates have just gone out with his ex-girlfriend. Ouch, that gotta hurt!

For some reason, Azmei decides to text me tonight and she tells me that she has managed to get a new job up there in Leicester (this following what sounded like a dream job that she already had). I congratulate her and squeeze out some nice nice but tonight’s highlight (sadly) is the South Park movie on Channel Four. Oh man, this film is fucking great! So great, that I fall asleep during the first advert break! If Ian Dury was here right now he’d go “what a waste”.

And in the words of new Mr T “drink your school, stay in drugs and don’t do milk”.

np: Royal Trux – Inside Game

2004-11-11T09:34:00.000Z

October 28 (Thursday): Surgery. Dream: I am sat at my desk at Chernobyl discussing work with Ivan. A young version of Jack (reminding me of Nigel Orrin) then comes over and begins talking to me, telling me how to manage and deal with people. He then goes outside and approaches a couple of lads in suits walking past the office, plainly green business wise. He returns to speak to me with the general air of “there you go” when it is plainly bullshit.

I wake up early, before my alarm clock goes off in the full knowledge that as soon as the buzzer rings, my day will be ruined. It is a bad morning, I feel disillusioned.

Sara hits me on MSN, eventually praising me for being “you’re my best friend, you don’t want to shag me”. Great, this follows up with my other redeeming qualities per her being that I’m nasty and make her laugh.

I go into work beardy and unshaven, a proper mess. Did I not have time to shave this morning? Almost immediately upon getting into work I am whinging about Pier Management and my apparent Forfeit Of Lease on Bohemian Grove and, with courage, I get straight onto the phone to speak to them about it. In the summer the hit me with fines and were not flexible, so dealing with this fine I suspect will be tricky. On the contrary though, I hold/keep my head and the guy on the other end of the phone, who I am sure I have spoken to before, waives the legal fees providing I pay the insurance charge immediately (which is fairly due). Still though, this requires me pulling just over £200 out of thin air and means that I am broke for November already and I have already spent the disposable portion of next months pay cheque. Ouch.

Today is hard work, Stevo is just plain annoying. Somewhere, somehow we get into some kind of argument over religion (probably from me talking about the Fear TV show from last night) and he begins attacking the Bible. Stevo tells me that inside the good book (Genesis I think) he says that it states “if you see a gay man being raped that you are supposed to send out your daughters to be raped”. Oh my god, this is so preposterous and depressing, some weird freaky case/example of really reading between the lines. What fucking purpose does it have being told these things?

At lunchtime I waddle around town on my own, doing lunch on the cheap and bumping around seeing the Wellington House girl three times looking really good. Simple things.

In the afternoon I continue work on Acme Newsagents and the job begins to feel like a bit of a stitch up, it is never ending and severely incomplete, accounts dating back to 2002, the first stretch of three that I appear to be headed for, one long waste of time exercise. The Mickey Mouse previous accountants are withholding serious wage/salary information (prompting an estimate of £40K), I have a big box stack full of unrecorded/unreconciled invoices and it just breaks my back as it is all needle in a haystack stuff. In three days I have cobbled some figures together but its all guesstimates (fudge) due to a limitation of scope and not my incompetence, as probably my seniors will see it. These kind of jobs make days appear to double in size and become a grind. Still, when Ivan comes over, looks at the job and makes positive comments it does rejuvenate things, to the point that I stay in work late.

When I get in, I check my post and there is the big letter from the NHS with regards to my impending surgery. It is time to speak to them and make a date for my visit. I can’t face this right now, this side of Christmas. Ultimately I can’t see myself going through with this, such a procedure could kill me I fear (but in reality will come nowhere near life threatening twat). I dare say I will chicken out of making an/the appointment for the surgery, using the excuse that it will be exam season.

Tonight is half term on the English front and the break week is most welcome, I need more than one night in a week.

I was hoping to get another past exam paper done and out of the way tonight but I wind up fouling up and playing FIFA 2005, Millwall taking on and beating the remainder of the Championship. Just like in real life (ho ho).

Eventually comes a well over due bath and then, bored, I find myself hitting the Friends Reunited website. Oh my, why on earth do I do this? The Friends Reunited seems only designed to perform one act; turn the most rational/normal of people insane as the website stirs up Vietnam-esqe flashbacks as mentally people go through some kind of time warp mind trip back to a persons (or what ought to be) most difficult/awkward days/years. And if it is not bad enough that the website acts to send bad memories/vibes flooding back, enter the where are they now/what are they doing section where everyone is fronting and apparently competing to be doing better than you. Who on earth wants to read about the kid/person/now adult that used to bully you at school and is now able to retire to Australia early next year while you remain in a funk, struggling to pay the mortgage on the most shit hole/bum hole of singleton flats. Mentally, you may as well tattoo “loser” across your psyche. And then even it happens, some sadist (who will remain unknown in the Acme empire) has gone and posted the year line-up photo of 1993. Fortunately I am not in the photo, I had my own little line-up, having been relegated to sit/work with the GCSE retake dumbos that year. However seeing those faces again is haunting, very bad for my wellbeing. And worse, they all look just like fucking spotty teenagers (what a shock) and now I question myself, how on earth did allow them to push me about? I am a bitter man. Or a better man. You decide.

8MM comes on Channel Four at 10PM and this snaps me away from cyberspace grey area/matter. I remember buying this movie on DVD just because James Gandolfini is in it and thinking it was terrible but I never really watched it that closely before. There is actually some interesting stuff in there that the Phoenix brother says (or rather his character) about perversions roping in a person, making them go further with extremes and kicks. Of course the subject of this movie is snuff films and I am never going to see anyone into that within my life time but there is a scary message here really, just by the extent that people now fulfil their pornographic needs in private with the internet, get their peccadilloes filled and move onto more extreme stuff. I have seen porno on the web so detached from sex that you forget what porn actually is. It’s scary when you think about it. I’m glad I’ve found God (wink).

I fall asleep watching 8MM, missing the awful ending which is probably for the best, I have already wasted enough minutes of my life on the hack movie.

np: Blur - Popscene

2004-11-11T09:33:00.000Z

October 27 (Wednesday): Everybody Loves You. Up and out to work, once more I leave cutting things close but fortunately this morning I have the bubble car. Unfortunately, Layer Road is being resurfaced and there seems absolutely no way I’ll be getting to work on time this morning. I was almost later than that as my groundskeeper collared me this morning, seemingly eager for the general bullshit chatter he feeds (the guy runs his own gossip column, the laters entry probably being how I am too ignorant and snobby to speak to him in the mornings).

I come into work to find Stevo and Who at loggerheads over the latest job Stevo claims Who has fucked up. The really is a mini-soap in itself. I know Who is prone to doing peculiar things on accounts but also as the line goes “Steve should have been a chef because he makes a meal out of things”.

However, I have my own little drama going on as the client I have been waiting for bank statements from and is coming in tomorrow for a meeting, still have not come up with the goods and when I speak to the guy he denies existence of said statements. This incident causes me grief and I sense some tension between myself and Barry heading my way but eventually it pans out ok. And all in all it means I struggle to get into work.

(drug reference scene missing)

At lunchtime Ivan asks us what we’re doing but I can’t afford to do lunch and I have swag Ebay CDs to post anyway. I do however turn up and join them at Yates after doing my post, poncing lunch off Stevo in the process (I’m a schnorer again).

Today I am really laid back and mellow and I really don’t know why. Ivan accuses me of there being something up but really I’m just unnervingly mellow, which is a mode of me I don’t think people like. As with a dog swimming, the lead may be still but under the water the motor/legs are running.

The rest of the work day of the passes without and then I get home and my world shatters as I discover my property management, Pier Management of Southend, have issued me with a Forfeit Of Lease on my flat, which is a good step towards one losing their home. These swine, under the name Equity Property Management, tried this on with me at the beginning of 2003 and Pier themselves hit me with fees earlier this year. The reason for my apparent forfeit of lease is an insurance invoice apparently dating back to June that I have never before had any request for. The bill is for £200+ but on top of this Pier have now added £140 plus VAT in apparent legal fees which ruins everything. So, according to this demand I have to pull £370 out of my arse within the next week or face the consequences, all as a result of administration errors at their end. To be continued. This however does wreck me……

It wrecks me for when we play football tonight, a friendly against Birket’s. Tonight’s match really should be a breeze as Birket’s are without their regular goalkeeper, tonight are not fielding this apparent Stanway Rovers superstar they have and we have seven players against their five, although for the entirety of the first half Dick and John sit it out, talking their way through the evening. After a scrappy first half, and me taking a real fucker of a shot in the face, things end at the break officially with us losing 5-6 when in earnest I make the score 6-6. Who’s arguing though? The second half goes a lot better/smoother, John and Stevo score fantastic goals which means they all don’t come from Ivan for a change. Towards the end we do build up a pretty good lead before I let in a number of stupid goals (as per usual), making it a tight end but we eventually officially win 15-13 when I really make the score 16-15. Who’s arguing though?

Post coital, I head to Asda to get my dinner, Asda where things are still really heavy handed on the Fort Knox security there, don’t like it.

When I get home, Acton immediately hits me on MSN and blah blah blah.

Eventually I get around to doing some audit past paper (3.1) and I actually find it really difficult. I can’t decide whether it is down to my memory being wiped, the exam paper in question being hard or my own general lethargy. I suspect it’s a soup of all three ingredients.

At 9PM the Fear: Power Of Nightmares documentary is on BBC2. Here is a program have pops at both the fanatical Muslim of the East and the Neo-conservatism of the West. This is all Michael Moore territory but BBC stylee, meaning a subtle political sway/bias in a very British manner/way. The program however is really interesting and you wind up hating both sides of the fence, not least for each and their delusional claims of being the reason for the Soviet Union collapsing. However, better than a Michael Moore documentary, there is little ego nor agenda which does prompt a person to wonder what is the purpose in telling people these things. Do I feel safer, more confident in the world as a result? Nope. Is this more information to bring Bush into question just prior to the US election (which we have no say in anyways). Maybe.

Beyond this, Arrested Development comes on but I fall asleep and the shine appears to be falling off this show already for me.

I re-awaken around 10.30 and at 11PM Tom hits me on MSN with this and that. I give good head. Around midnight I begin watching High Fidelity which helps to send me to sleep.

np: Ann Peebles – I Can’t Stand The Rain

2004-11-11T09:32:00.000Z

October 26 (Tuesday): Unwound. Ouch, more hard times getting up, getting going again this morning. Today is yet another trip/journey to Mildenhall, seeing me aiming to leave for 7.30 to arrive around 9.00. Yeah, that’ll happen. Instead I stumble around my flat early morn, zombie like, eventually managing to leave home 7.45ish. The drive up the A12 and A14 turns out to be a real breeze though, Moyles is on form playing great songs by Coxon, Kelis, Red Hot Chili Peppers: all singalong tracks that make the car drive faster and the journey feel shorter.

As I near Mildenhall, I drive past the sugar factory/plant near Bury and turn off into the sticks and head to the industrial estate near the airforce base. The stench is so strong/potent I almost fail to breath, deciding I never want near sugar ever again.

My day’s work turns out to be a real winner, getting as much accomplished as desired, almost more so. Again I am working with the bosses’ daughter which is hard work but I tear through my duties (and some of hers) as she spends all day adding up a cash book.

Downstairs at the clients, there is a workshop of pipe workers and all day they listen to the radio and I hear Teenage Kicks by the Undertones at least twice in addition to the workers laughing their tits off at Goldie Lookin’ Chain’s Your Mother’s Got A Penis.

For lunch the boss’s daughter buys me a bacon roll, I guess I must look like I need food. Or that I enjoy food. I then glean my trivia for the day as when it gets mentioned that I support Millwall (and the fact is subsequently mocked to eternity) I get told that the scoreboard from the old Den was bought by Rushden & Diamonds and it now at their ground/stadium. Go figure.

My working day ends positively as the written/manual figures almost tie up with the computerised Sage figures which is a result beyond result and I am able to get their VAT return done, using the figures per the computer, the new system I have been given the task of implementing. Unfortunately however, things end on a semi funny note as the boss begins looking at the figures, expecting it seems to be able to glean management information at this point. Whoops, we’re not that advanced yet. I have a few cold sweets before managing to get out of there cleanly, still in their hearts.

When I get in the car to return home I turn on Radio One and DJ Spoony is in for Scott Mills and he reports that John Peel has died of a heartattack. This news that doesn’t register with me initially because it just sounds so wild and incomprehendable. As things sink in and Spoony announces it for a second, beginning to tailor his playlist into something Peel-esqe, I have to say I am genuinely surprised/shocked in the worst of ways and I immediately text (whilst driving) everyone I know who would be interested, even emotionally involved. It turns out to be the first time I hear from Ben since our argument over my little fracas the other Friday. It’s something that is genuinely sad.

The drive home up the A14 and across on the A12 (the road Peel put into Room 101) turns out to be to a soundtrack of the most fantastic music of recent years and suddenly it is clear why I have been hearing the abysmal cheese fest of a song Teenage Kicks on the radio so much today. On the drive home I hear The Smiths, Nirvana, Pulp, Underworld, Blur and the Buzzcocks amongst others and each song has never sounded better (car radios have that effect on music, maybe it’s the sensation of having songs coming at you from all directions or maybe it is just the randomness of playlists and lack of control they hold sometimes).

Tonight is Millwall v Liverpool in the league cup on Sky (what is it these days? Carling Cup?). On the way home I pop into Tesco Highwoods to buy some video tapes before listening to Zane Lowe on Radio One pay tribute but not play tribute enough or adjust his listening/playing choices (enough). Nevermind.

When I arrive home, I notice that my red Escort is not in the driveway. When I go inside I ask where the car is and the old man has got rid of it, had it taken away. I ponder this sudden development and the first thing that springs to mind is “did you get any money for it?”. He claims he didn’t but who in their right mind would give a 1994 clapped out automobile away for nothing, there needs to be some legal consideration. And some consideration for my feelings. The disposal of my red Escort is some what the end of an era. Firstly I cease to be Jason Two Cars but the WOW mobile really was a part of me that should have received some kind of ceremony first before leaving this world (JGRAM). The WOW mobile was the vehicle that helped San Lorenzo to tour with Idlewild, that stunk up the motorways on two trips to All Tomorrows Parties, took Hirameka to their final BBC Peel session and lugged equipment around to a hundred gigs and broke down/died just as many times. This car was deserving of a fate something more dignified.

Millwall v Liverpool reserves turns out to be a real horror show of a game, it is frightening how Liverpool’s second string dismantle Millwall in the early stages and really take them apart, keeping them out of the game. Granted Millwall are also fielding the strangest of teams but I can barely remember them having more than a handful of chances, something that is not new to them. When Liverpool take the lead within the first twenty minutes (Diao scores whoever the fuck he is, maybe a relation of Ronnie James Dio?) the game immediately looks over. By the end of the first half though, Millwall do get back in the game but sadly still look really impotent up front with Harris and Tessem (what is Tessem?). Reliably though Millwall do rough things up, Muscat never lets the side down and it’s good to have him pissing out rather than pissing in, one of only a few players that does not look intimidated by Liverpool. The other player starring tonight is Alan Dunne, playing out of position it seems but getting stuck in and making up for his obvious limitations. In the second half, the game evens out somewhat but for Millwall to string a set of passes together appears to be the hardest fucking thing to do and they never really look like equalising. Eventually Liverpool bring on some “stars” including that little long haired Czech gimp Baros. Muscat winds him up nicely for a bit but ultimately when Baros scores on 70 its beauty over the beast and it kills off the game (as if Millwall were ever in the game to start off with). Baros adds another in injury time and it all ends looking resoundingly shit, this was a worse defeat than the cup final.

Teachers restarts on Channel Four tonight and its all changed, and for the worse. I watch some of it with Dad (a strange development). Firstly with Teachers, Kurt and Brian have gone, when they actually made the last series and worse they have now been replaced by weirdo wannabes with crap hairstyles. In fact, everyone has new hair styles, all hip and trendy and all fucking terrible. Lindsey has got fatter and now the music is too loud you cannot hear the dialogue, which I suspect might have been done on purpose. All good things come to an end.

I flip to E4 and the penultimate episode of season five of The Sopranos. Tonight Adrianna gets it and it remains pretty shocking and effective.

I drive home just prior to midnight, driving very paranoid of being caught by the police, therefore I drive pretty mentally, slower than required. I listen to Radio One on my ride and Steve Lamacq is doing a tribute show to John Peel, playing nothing but Peel sessions it seems and it is the most fantastic music.

When I arrive back in Colchester, I get held up driving around Hythe as some fucking mug is having a midnight driving lesson. Students and/or foreigners by far. That and/or potheads out on a munchie run. Surely there must be some kind law about learner drivers not being allowed out on the road after midnight, surely they turn into pumpkins or something. Or maybe this is just the latest ploy for getting around drink driving, just slap on L plates and drive home as crappily as you desire, its all in the name amateurism. And after I just spend the whole drive home, driving like a trooper/boy scout, it just drives me insane, to the point I find myself attempting to ram the car off the road. I don’t do this though, I’m a good guy.

When I get in, I get hit by Tom on MSN acting really wet with regards to Peel. I peruse the web and everyone appears to be acting like a bleeding heart over poor old John Peel’s passing. And so many people are saying “I now wish I had listened to his show more”. Exactly, no fucker was listening to the show by the end really anyway, it all stinks of hypocrisy. Tom does make the best point though when he says “it may well be the end of Radio One playing unsolicited music”. Sara then comes online shortly afterwards and I greet her with the affectionate line “my smelly valentine”. In the end, I wind up doing this shit until 2 AM, that’s going to hurt in the morning.

np: Bobby Darin – If I Were A Carpenter

2004-11-10T21:41:00.000Z

October 25 (Monday): Enemies. I wake up and hit Sara on MSN for some talk but she is doing some kind of stocktake on Kangaroo Island (what of kangaroos?) and our interaction is just painfully excruciating.

It doesn’t however prevent me from leaving home late and walking at a pace to limitize damage on consistent lateness recently. Fortunately however as I tear down Butt Road I see Sandip, meaning he is also late, somewhat saving my arse as we turn up late together. And just as we reach Chernobyl we see Barry in the distance coming over to see us in the office and having to turn away when at past 9AM on a Monday morning it is still locked up. Whoops.

Louise is back at work today but Stevo is at some client somewhere which means Louise is my source of amusement at work today. And I find myself getting my work today from Ivan. All morning I work with just Sandip in Chernobyl who spends the morning cracking me up doing Nick Cotton and Little Britain (“want that one”) impressions in his Indian accent. He rules!

At lunchtime I do things on the cheap, not least for the fright/scare/shock I have when I check my bank balance at Nat West. This month I am sailing really close to the wind come the end of the month just basically because October is a “five weeker”. I also trot into town with Louise who looks for a costume to wear to a fancy dress party she is going to. She picks out a Supergirl costume but she doesn’t let me see her in it, instead she sends me off on my own for lunch (can I be trusted?). It seems I can’t be trusted to do things right because when I go into HMV to buy the Office Christmas Special DVD (HMV exclusive comes with David Brent CD single!) my Virgin MBNA card gets declined at the checkout. Whoops, that’s the one I forgot to pay (and I later find out I went over the limit max also, charges-a-go-go). Luckily I am able to stick my hand in my pocket and dig out the Capital One, which saves blushes.

At the end of the day I take the Micra bubble car home with view to having an early start in the morning for when I go to Acme again. I do however have to put petrol into the mini monster, so instead of doing any study or anything of use, I go and check out the brand new swanky Asda. It has an upstairs now! And still the multinational security that don’t look able to write, they just thump.

When I get in, I find myself asleep by 10PM when really I was hoping to get some study in, my supposed option/chore. I’m a bad boy apparently.

np: Mudhoney – Chain That Door

2004-11-10T21:37:00.000Z

October 24 (Sunday): See You Dead. After a really disturbed night of sleep, I finally wake up at 9.45 after a weird series of dreams, the weirdest of which being me starting a band with an Elvis Costello clone and writing a song with him until 4AM this morning before giving Tom and Chris ride homes on a long narrow push bike.

Today the sign says “welcome to another drab Sunday” but at least it moves quickly.

After a bit of BBC News, Pop World, David Frost and Heaven And Earth, I tune into the Championship on ITV and can’t fucking believe what I see when they show Cardiff’s goals yesterday against Millwall. No luck or bunch of fuckwits in our side: you decide.

Eventually I get out and make moves to going home to see the olds. Today is Man Utd v Arsenal on Sky as Arsenal go for the unbeaten record and in the real world, as fucking annoying as Man Utd and their supporters are, Arsenal is the biggest cocksucking team in the country.

When I arrive home my parents are in the process of beginning to clear out the loft of 58 Hereford Road which they have just sold and this time it seems like the move is for real and not just them telling me half truths and porky pies. And sorting out the loft generally means sorting out my stuff (my shit) as I am hoarder (or as Harvey Pekar would say, a “collector”).

Instead of helping out or doing anything the least bit useful or constructive, instead I revert to teenager mode that I always slump into whenever I come home and I settle down to watching the Wrestling Channel on Sky where they are showing a really interesting Shoot interview (on camcorder) with Bam Bam Bigelow, later followed by a shorter interview with Jim Cornette. What on earth is the deal with me and my fascination with wrestling? Help.

I have to stop watching the wrestling when dad comes into the front room and relinquishes the Sky from me in order to watch Man Utd v Arsenal. The game turns out to be hot headed and drab as expected, not nearly as nasty as desired but enough to make it interesting. And the result is the right! Oh happy days as Man Utd put two past Arsenal to beat them 2-0 and make sure they ain’t breaking any records this season. Its something of grey area as to whether the win is/was actually deserved but they got it all the same and without anyone getting off, not least Ashley Cole who spent the game being a whining fuck and when the supposed incident with Van Nistelrooy occurred, it was only his hell for leather momentum that made it look/be so bad. Likewise, the other whinger of the show appeared to be the flappy Wayne Rooney, looking and acting like one of my inbred cousins out on the piss. The way he goes around shoving people, it is a wonder he does not get sent off more times. Whatever though, Arsenal lost and that’s the main/best thing about it.

In the early evening I manage to get some writing deal whilst also living in fear of Emily texting me and asking me to the Sunday night quiz at the Hogshead. I don’t want to go (it’s a Sunday!) but I don’t want to be seen to be letting her down for a second weekend running either. In the end though, she doesn’t text and then I get a bit grumpy over that! Can’t win.

When I finally get home to Bohemian Grove, the Music Hall Of Fame has reached the seventies and obviously the Sex Pistols, Clash and Led Zeppelin along with a bunch of disco acts blah blah blah. Once more Henry Rollins is on there saying how he likes everything and this makes all well with the world?

Around midnight Sara comes online from Australia and I hit her on MSN for a short while but she doesn’t seem/appear to want to speak. What the fucks up with her now?

For a second night running I go to sleep watching my Book Group DVD, finally getting to the end where the guy ODs and his twin brother turns up in time to ruin the entire second series. I think my watching Book Group at this time has been prompting by happening across seeing Anne Dudek in an episode of Friends the other dressed up as a slag. What’s that about? Tell me in the morning.

np: Julian Lennon – Too Late For Goodbyes

2004-11-10T21:19:00.000Z

October 23 (Saturday): Drug Lord. I awaken around 9AM with a caning headache, so I may have well got pissed last night. Not long after I begin to murmur achingly, Richard (Acton) his me on MSN telling me how hungover he himself is.

Today is supposed to be about study but it doesn’t really happen. I do however receive a sign/message when the postman knocks on my door and hands me more study material from the BPP for my exams. Double whammy though, it is Rob who was working in the Butt Road sex/porno shop until recently. I say “hi” and ask why he isn’t still working there. He is coy and said it just didn’t work out. But I don’t want this guy as my postman, now knowing where I live!

Today is Millwall v Cardiff and I find myself considering going, if not least just to say that I survived the Soul Crew visit. The day starts out with the sun of the past few days but soon it goes in and the weather scares me off going up to Bermondsey. I guess this makes me a fairweather supporter in the literal sense. By the time I go out and do the newspaper run however the heavens have ripped open and it is royally pissing down. One bonus though, the person at the Layer Road paper shop undercharges, which is much welcome in these times of financial uncertainty and semi-destitution.

Avoiding doing study or anything useful for that matter, I find myself on the Playstation 2 again, being Millwall running riot in the Championship (once of course I get into my stride). A long session of soccer only gets disrupted by a little unwelcome cold calling.

The afternoon happens, just really encompassing listening to the football on internet radio. Millwall wind up drawing 2-2 with Cardiff after trailing both times to Cardiff’s goals, with Tessem scoring the first and Harris scoring the equalizer equalling Teddy Sheringham’s all time Millwall scoring record.

With dinner time looming, I perform the very healthy option of popping out to the chip shop on North Station Road. Usually when do this, it is generally a sign of me feeling sorry for myself. That and/or me being very hungry and having no food in my flat.

When I get and after I eat up I begin reading Kingdom Of Fear by Hunter S. Thompson which is really good but not very good on the head when you have a raging headache. From there I hop to higher level of cultural experience by watching Godzilla v Megalon which I have downloaded off the internet. I have to admit, I actually watch an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 where they are ripping the piss out of the movie and I haven’t found myself laughing so much in absolutely ages. Cheers me up.

Evening hits with full swing and for some reason Channel Four are showing K-Pax which has always looked the oddest movie to me and indeed proves so, Spacey really hamming/camping it up, he must have just been for a walk in a park or something. Either way, it sends me to sleep, closing the coffin on another thrilling Saturday night for Jason (Saturdays are for couples anyway). I do wake up later on, in the early hours to discover Jonathan Ross interviewing a rather perky Ringo Starr who actually comes over as likeable and interesting whilst hawking a book of postcards the other Beatles sent to him in the sixties, which in my opinion really is scraping the barrel and taking the piss out of your fanbase. From there Jonathan Ross skips to Nick Cave where he and the Bad Seeds perform Nature Boy on a very mainstream talk show. Nick Cave looks pretty fucked these days and its all down to his terrible choice of hairstyle, a seeming attempt to try and keep things long but losing the war as he goes thin on top. Early hours channel surfing sees me coming across Scum starring the entire cast of The Bill and Only Fools And Horses when they were teachers with Ray Winstone not looking cool or solid. That ends with me wishing I hadn’t bothered to watch any of it and I slap on the remainder of my Book Group DVD and surprisingly thoroughly enjoying it before falling asleep before the ultimate failure of late night Saturday/early morning Sunday TV, the repeat of Countdown (at which point you generally find yourself watching just in the hope that Carol is wearing something semi sexy so that you can bash one out).

np: Dizzie Gillispie – Oh, Lady Be Good

2004-11-10T21:13:00.000Z

October 22 (Friday): Crashing Foreign Cars. This morning I wake up with a thud, my alarm once more startles me when it goes off at 7 AM and I awaken alone mentally whinging “it shouldn’t be like this”. I leave the alarm clock to buzz long than usual by way/effort of protest but eventually give in to its haranguing.

Things get worse when I discover that my computer has gone blue screen and postal once more, there really is something horrible going on with my PC right now, ever since I installed AOL broadband. I switch it off and restart and it takes an eternity to reboot and forever to get back online. I get messages of AOL needing to be reinstalled and, early morning, memories of all my lost emails in the personal filing cabinet come flooding back. Eventually I get online to speak to Sara but now I am in the finest mood, work is good and therefore life is good as a result. I must type with a glow, Sara comments that she thinks I sound like I got a shag. Yeah fucking right.

I walk into work and for the first time in weeks I arrive early, early doors no fear. And I proceed to have a really good morning, getting lots of work done in the process.

Today, as per yesterday, the weather is fantastic perfect autumnal, sunny but chilled so I decide to leave at lunchtime and use up the spare half day I have still knocking about (much to the chagrin of everyone around me). This afternoon I intend to get my house in order, tidy up Bohemian Grove, bring my writing up to date all with the view/intention of being well set up to begin studying this weekend.

After watching Working Lunch though, salaryman that I am, Richard immediately hits me on MSN asking “what are you doing at home?”. Jesus, the first real holiday day I am taking off this year (the others having been spent on study and job interviews), immediately I am (almost) being accused of being a skiver (kind of). We talk music and bring up RTX and Hot Snakes, which I promptly begin downloading. RTX is cool stuff. Shock horror it sounds like Royal Trux and as I download it with broadband, tracks download quicker than their actual length so I get to listen to the album without break, uninterrupted. Back of the net.

Eventually I get down to some intensive/extensive fulfilling writing, as I finally get my visit with Eva down on paper. It’s a draining task/experience. And ultimately too graphic for this blog.

Tonight is the final of The Apprentice and boy am I too interested by it. And bonus material, tonight the episode is almost 90 minutes long. The show is well edited to make Bill and Kwame look equally incompetent but Kwame does appear to have a distinct disadvantage in having the useless nutbar that is Omarosa on his team almost purposely sabotaging things like a plant, all despite the Jessica Simpson concert looking the easier task over the golf tournament. Eventually/obviously both events go off without any real hitch or drama and Bill, looking just like Brian from The Sopranos, gets the nod and wins the competition, in a weird bit of editing that sees Trump’s boardroom turn into a television where all the competitors are wheeled back out including Tammy who is now knocked up. Apparently there is going to be a UK version of this show with Alan Sugar. I can’t imagine it being anywhere near as good.

My Friday evening turns out to be a real yawner of a Friday with resorting to watching the Jasper Carrott car crash sitcom All About Me with the Asian teenage Stephen Hawking sneakily doing a voiceover of events and passing judgement on his friends and family. Hasn’t the BBC learned from Little Britain that people in wheelchairs are only funny when they’re saying “want that one”.

The night only improves when I begin playing FIFA 2005 some more before turning in a bit too early for a Friday night.

After a brief bout of sleeping, I awaken to the weird recognition of A Forest by The Cure as Jools Holland shows Robert Smith the oldest footage possible going of The Cure in action which frightens the hell out of me and freaks me out. Really strange considering that A Forest is my favourite Cure song.

I resume sleeping, awaiting nightmares.

np: Royal Trux - Stevie

2004-11-10T21:07:00.000Z

October 21 (Thursday): Smart. I bounce awake at 7AM as I get rudely awaken by my alarm clock with the environment/weather/sky still pitch black dark, as if night. All in all, it makes this SO hard to wake/get up.

Surprise surprise Cilla, this morning Sara is online and on/up for some MSN. I speak to her for the longest I have for many days (well, since Saturday night’s events). She is still moaning that she is cold in Australia and points me to where she actually is in Oz. I look on the website of the place and it is called Kangaroo Island, a small island just off Adelaide. It looks fantastic for wildlife and generally a really nice select resort to go to relax and chill out. Sara tells me how cute the kangaroos are and that she has had her picture taken with some, me joking “when I see the pictures will I be able to see/tell who is who?”. She also tells me about the Koala bears and I make comment that I thought they were extinct and that I should have been one.

Our “conversation” (instead of nonversation) gets killed/cut short when my computer crashes offline and goes on the blink. I am now having more problems than ever with my PC and many of them are with the DSL connection. I wrestle with the thing for way too long and once more the real nightmare finds me late leaving for work and late arriving for work.

My walk to work is painful and colourful as I feel myself (pockets) jangling insanely, next to terrifying a mother I have to pass on my way. It has turned out to be a beautiful day and I look down on the floor only to see any opened condom trying to upset/spoil it. As I near the office, turning out not to be fully as late as originally feared, Moyles’ Tedious Link today turns out to be Alive by Pearl Jam. Happy happy joy joy.

Today is Emma’s last day at work before she leaves for Australia, so maybe it should be emotional but to be honest it is pretty fucking far from. I however am very chipper today, I have one of my best days at work in a long time and I get a lot of work done.

At lunchtime it is suggested that we lunch at the Marquis but instead, once Ivan gets involved, we head to the Hogshead where myself, Steve, Sandip and Ivan shoot the shit. I actually stagger around the Hogs semi tapped out, nearly stabbing two people with my knife and fork that they give me after I order my food (bean burger, going veggie). Most people generally are forgiving to such a faux pas but one of my victims happens to be the crazy Crouch Street tourettes man, which frightens the life out of me. Fortunately though, I get off scot free (today the gods are smiling on me).

Back in the office in the afternoon and we get Lindsey over doing her little bit of Sage. Its fine though, she’s quiet as a mouse and doesn’t seem dare speak to me these days but unfortunately with her coming over, we get the second coming of Janine coming into our office to talk lady bollocks (if you girls like Chernobyl so much why don’t you work here permanently and let us decent employees work in a nice office environment with basic stuff like fire escapes, windows that open, fire extinguishers and no pongy fucking odours). Her visit however coincides with my having wind from my Hogshead lunch (bean burger remember) and unfortunately a couple slip out. The second pop off turns out to be pretty pungent and all I can do is escape to the main office to get away from the hungry for stink. Apparently though, Sandip tells me that shortly after I disappear giggling (to myself) the girls mack my fart and Emma says “he’s always doing that” to which bovine girl states “no wonder he hasn’t got a girlfriend”. Bitchy. Another Friday night out on the town has been suggested by them but following the last disaster (August 13th), the one dimensionals really should be given a wide birth I believe, for the better of the firm/company/organisation. Well, me (without meaning to be selfish here).

I’m so sure that moving to the other office was such a great idea in itself though as I go see Stevo in the tax department banging his head against the Viztopia program and ripping the piss out of me to Andrex for my apparent crush on/of the old Chinese lady. We then get into some bullshit conversation where Andrex starts moaning about how upsetting it is to be hit on by sleazy men and how it effects their/her own worth and self esteem. My heart bleeds.

My afternoon infinitely picks up when Ivan mentions some management work that he may be pushing my way, some high profile work that is infinitely more interesting than the majority work I do now but also a high level of work/job which at the same time I am very capable of doing. In other words, this is good work scoring points with management and progressing my career/prospects.

In the evening, Stevo once more gives me a lift home and I get home in time to see the penultimate episode of The Apprentice. As the teams are finally down to two against two, old Donald Trump has decided to abandon the whole team v team premise, instead choosing to make all four remaining competitors conduct job interviews with his very best personnel with view to eliminating two of the contestants. Shockingly, the two contestants chosen for the chop also appear to have been the most successful, confident and arrogant of the contestants so far: Nick and Amy. Personally I don’t care for either character, so their elimination is no great shakes to me. And this is all occurs halfway through the show, the remainder shows the beginning of the final between Kwame and Bill, with the pair of them running teams of ex-contestants in arranging/managing a Jessica Simpson concert and golf tournament respectively. I am so sad, I’m actually eagerly anticipating the final tomorrow (to the point that I look on the internet to see who actually won/wins).

Tonight I come so so close to not making it to my English class, I just feel exhausted and uninterested. However, I never bunk nor take sick days so at the eleventh hour I have a double strength cup of Rocket Fuel coffee and drag myself to class. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered as once more this week we analyse the poems of Christina Rossetti which I find thoroughly dull and I fidget my way through the entire class (something I think the teacher notices me doing). At breaktime we head down to get drinks and stuff in the “refectory”. As usual it is full of handicap people out on their weekly jolly social night. And I commit a little faux pas when talking to Emma and doing my Little Britain impression “want that one”. She tells me off.

Back in the class, it becomes my point/time to comment on the specific poem (The Thread Of Life) our group was analysing last week. I’m not sure if the teacher was being genuine or just decided to humour and enthuse me but when I make comment that in the poem Rossetti ends by “fishing for positivity”, she raves and says that is a fantastic comment to make. I really appreciate such props and it does respark my interest in the class (briefly). When the lesson ends, I am really relieved to be able to get home and sleep off my exhaustion (ha ha).

When I get in though, I actually get down to doing some writing and eventually go to sleep watching my Book Group DVD that I have dug out after probably gathering dust for over a year. I still fall asleep watching it though.

np: Selfish Cunt – I Love New York

2004-11-10T21:00:00.000Z

October 20 (Wednesday): The Velveteen Touch Of A Dandy Fop. I wake this morning to GMTV talking about Chavs. The world has officially gone insane. And it seems that Eamon and Fiona are a right couple of proper experts on the subject. Couple of blingers. This really is the Twilight Zone.

Fortunately this morning I have the bubble car still, so I can stay home a bit later (leave a bit later) but this still doesn’t ensure that I arrive to work on time (traffic). I don’t. This probably (should) be noticed soon.

Today there is a really really good vibe in the office, alternative paranoia would suggest to me that word may have gotten around of my good performance at Acme yesterday. This is capped by Jack acknowledging me, patting my computer monitor as if it is a pat on the head (ha ha) and winking in the process. Also Who speaks to me some more about the Acme job but instead this time, his suggestions are helpfully toned and not critical. And then later on Who actually attempts conversation with me, asking me how Millwall got on last night. Good times, good vibe.

This however is not universal as Stevo is running around the office tearing his hair out as he feels the heat on getting a job finished for Jack today as his next job is ready to get going, almost late for its deadline before it is even started.

At lunchtime I stagger into town and do the usual Wednesday thing of buying the NME without thinking, its just a routine reaction I have/do on Wednesdays (non-stop for ten years now). Maybe if I actually did give it some thought, I wouldn’t buy it and save myself £1.80 every Wednesday (wow, big saving). And as per usual, when I get the issue back to the office, I just flick through it and barely bother reading any articles. Whilst in town at lunch though, as I am checking my bank balance at/on the Nat West machine, I get tapped on the back but instead of being attacked/mugged (good luck getting any money out of this machine/card/account) it is Ellen, who I haven’t seen in ages. We have something of a nonversation and it turns out that the pair of us are doing the same exams in December. In comparison however, in her job she does sound somewhat further accelerated than me, something to which I am jealous as my career (albeit not financially) feels in a complete rut. Over meeting/conversation ends perversely with her telling me that I need to meet a “nice girl” and I tell her “there is no such thing” and our snappy exchange becomes reminiscent of my general exchange with all girls. God, to think I once had the strongest feelings for her.

This lunchtime all the partners are out of the office on some do put on by Barclays bank, a real meet and greet for local businesses in which all principals involved get to bum lick eachother with view to drumming up business between themselves. And in a real gesture/intention of grooming him further, they take along Ivan and not Steve (the other manager) and not Drew (the other manager, whereas once upon a time he may have joined them).

All thoughts about this however immediately leave as I notice in the NME that Helmet are touring the UK in December. I always regretted never seeing them and now I have the opportunity to do so. And the London show is on December 1st, mum’s birthday and a day when I will be in London on an accountancy course. Yes!!!! Still though, I cannot believe that this is THE Helmet that have reformed and are touring, someone somewhere must be shitting me.

The afternoon pretty much passes eventless except to the point that I discover my hacky sack is missing. World War III ensues as I suspect all parties of taking/steeling my favourite stress toy. I jokingly act like a child on the surface but genuinely these actions (of shouting and banging stuff) are not jokes. Eventually however I go over and ask Ivan (my number one suspect) if he has it and he indeed accidentally picked it up out of habit earlier in the week and never put it back. Once more Chernobyl can revert/resume to Def Con Four.

In the evening Stevo gives me a lift home, blessing of blessings five-a-side has been called off this week, so I get to relax this evening.

The episode of The Apprentice tonight is a killer, winding up being Kwame vs Troy as the show breaks down and drops from five to four. Tonight is a double shock when Nick and Amy get a late victory over Troy, Kwame and Bill and when it comes to head to head, it winds up being the good friends and the wrong one, Troy, gets eliminated. Of the remaining contestants, Troy was my favourite, the most earnest and likeable. Nevermind, its only TV.

I waste the remainder of the evening, playing FIFA 2005 on Playstation 2 and doing career mode of being Millwall in the Championship division, making progress to the point of going unbeaten this evening.

When it comes to dinner time, it turns out that I haven’t actually got any food in my flat so I have to venture out and get some stuff. I go to Tesco Hythe, which is far from my number one choice supermarket these days. When I get there it is a chocka midweek shopping night and when I eventually get parked, as I struggle to avoid the cars parked to either my left and/or right I fail to notice that I am reversing slam right into the car parked (poorly) behind me. When I get out, I inspect the potential damage and it was only a bumper to bumper thing and there are no marks to my car. As I walk off into the store I see a woman walk past me and get into the car, she obviously must have seen me hit her car but she doesn’t say a word. I guess sometimes I do look scary.

When I get back, I search out the internet and discover that Helmet have in fact reformed and not only booked a new tour, they have also recorded a new record! I promptly hit Soulseek and immediately find it and begin downloading it. At this point Phoebe Toronto hits me on MSN and we talk bollocks for a bit, her asking me advice on communicative issues (yeah, I’m really good at them).

Tonight I do intend to stay up for a bit and actually do stuff, so I down a double strength cup of Rocket Fuel coffee and then settle down to a really disappointing episode of Arrested Development before having a late bath.

I get back to my PC to discover that all my old emails (7000+) have all been wiped in my recently woes/problems with AOL broadband. Fortunately, somewhere I find a back up from the beginning of October, so I manage to get most of them back.

From there I begin watching more of the Metallica documentary that I have just downloaded and it remains disappointing and overrated, to the point that I fall asleep. When I wake up Sara is online and I speak to her for a little while before putting on Fahrenheit 9/11 again (disc now wiped and working) and I fall asleep watching that (again!).

np: Helmet - Smart

2004-11-10T20:56:00.000Z

October 19 (Tuesday): Operation Hell On Earth. Ouch, today/tonight I had a restless evening of only about four hours sleep and recurring dreams about the impending job I am facing today. And its not so much that job is the nightmare, it is the person from my company that I am working with on it. Needless to say, when I finally wake up, I don’t feel good about things.

I get up at 7AM and it turns out to be the usual routine of attempting to leave at 7.30AM but bouncing about like a bear with sore head and only just making it out at 7.45AM (at best). I don’t bother with the revision tapes this morning, instead I mack on Moyles on the radio making it all a very smooth ride to Mildenhall.

When I arrive at the client’s, Who is already there confusing everyone. He has hooked the laptop up to a printer and is proceeding to print off every report imaginable it seems (oh dear, it looks like he is going to get really involved today, the latest cook in the addition to spoiling the broth). I check the Sage records though and very fortunately no postings have been made since I last worked on the job last week, so the backup of the program I have brought in today with additional postings on Sage will not interfere with any postings that have been made subsequent to my trickery. While Who is talking the hind legs of this donkey (client) I quickly pull out a portable floppy disk drive out of my suit jacket pocket, slip it into a USB, restore my version of the accounts and it restores and soon the perfect crime has occurred. I now have/possess a little inkling as to how it would have felt to/for Nick Leeson. Unfortunately in this climate of working against rather than with, this I what I have to resort to.

Before work proper begins on the job, Who asks me if I want a bacon and egg roll because they are ordering in and I tuck into breakfast on the boss. Once clear, Who sets me up with reconciling the bank to manual records. This makes absolutely no sense because there is a reconciliation function on the Sage program and he knows this. However, I humour him initially but when it becomes plainly obvious that this is the biggest waste of time in the world, I switch to my plan which is a straight ahead bulldoze and tear into the job. I get even more luckier when Who has to go to another client, situated next door, and I get the breathing space that I need in order to do the job with the best method (in my belief/opinion).

I work through lunch, running at non-stop and when Who returns in the early afternoon I have really accomplished most of the work in hand and I am in a really good position. Who looks over the job and where it is at and doesn’t seem to find any fault in it (or at least he does not air it verbally). By 3.00 PM I have reconciled all the banks and by 4.00 PM all the credit card transactions are on the system, both huge accomplishments on the day.

Whilst going through the sales, I come across a sales invoice from Halliburton which old Dick Cheney’s company as featured per Fahrenheit 9/11 etc. Suddenly this company I am working on seems very global and very real to me, almost topical to the point of being hip with substance. Next stop: a Michael Moore expose?

Late in the afternoon Stevo phones up. All day today Stevo has been up in court on speeding charges with regards to his being caught doing 60mph in a 30mph area in Braintree earlier this year. The smart money was all on him losing his licence for a month and receiving a hefty fine (£500 plus?) but in the end it turns out that he has received just a £300 fine and six points on his licence but he has managed to keep/stay on the road, which in our line is paramount.

As the day reaches an end, one of the guys at Acme called Dennis (who looks like Garry Shandling/Larry Sanders) says “look at this” and he pulls out the video file that I have heard of, of a sex version of Rainbow complete with Zippy, Bungle and Geoffrey all making innuendoes and verging on swearing. It cracks me up.

This is almost my favourite client/job now, not least for the way in which I am able to crack up their staff by saying “was he supposed to leave before me?” when Who leaves the client ahead of me. I come away from this job really enthused about work and my job, I love getting out of the office and working with clients, it really would be beneficial for all parties if I did it more.

I drive home down the A14 in one of the best of all possible moods and this includes me attempting to have a race in the company Micra with an Audi TT (I fucking hate those cars). When I eventually get up the car’s arse and begin to tailgate, the motherfucker decides to brake at my expense causing me to brake in a panic. Oh it makes me so mad, I fill with road rage. Of course however I don’t see the Audi for dust, despite my best attempts/intentions, until it gets held up behind some slow coach and once more I get right behind the bastard (driving makes me a bit aggressive sometimes). All in all though, it is all good fun and it makes my ride home more interesting and a hell of a lot shorter/briefer. Joking.

For leaving Mildenhall at around 4.40 I do well in getting home to Colchester for just before 6.00 in order to see latest episode of The Apprentice. Staying in to watch the Donald Trump boys however makes me rather late in leaving for my parents and my weekly Tuesday night visit (to see The Sopranos).

On my way to Holland, Clacton I stop by at Highwoods Tesco to buy Fahrenheit 9/11 on DVD which officially makes me the biggest hypocrite in the world/history after all my ranting over the movie when I saw it in the cinema in the summer. I dunno, I’m just interested to see what he says about Halliburton all of a sudden after brushing up against the company in my work today. Michael Moore, that old edutainer.

I’m really happy to report that I actually go home this week in the finest of moods and am actually cheerful when my parents see me for a change (the first time for this in a long long time). I get real guilty about going home every week and grumbling to my parents about this and that. However this week I don’t think I could possibly piss them off as they have just sold their house after it only being on the market for a few weeks, going against the grain on current house selling trends (the current inflated prices/values of homes seems to be insuring little movement in/on the property market). I don’t really want them moving up to Colchester though (as I’ve probably already said a number of times already/before).

The evening gets better when Millwall manage to beat Gillingham, one of our dumb bogey teams who always seem to beat us up wholesale. Tonight’s goals come from Alan Dunne and Barry Hayles, first times for everyone.

Tonight’s episode of The Sopranos on E4 is The Test Dream, in which Tony B finally flips while/as a stressed out Tony lays low overlooking Central Park in New York. This is almost the big reunion episode as all the old bumped/clipped characters from the previous series show their faces as Tony has a long dream sequence to rival the season two finale dreams. I would say however that E4 really do their best to ruin the episode as they cut up the dream twice and ruin the cohesion/flow of it by inserting not one but two ad breaks disrupting what really needs to be one long uninterrupted sequence. That said, the return of John Heard is completely welcome and the random act of inserting Annette Benning for no clear reason is pretty clever. I really like the way the episode ends with Tony B doing the inevitable but the viewer does not actually blatantly see it, instead we get to see how Tony expects it. Of course I’m blabbering on now to sound/look clever, I actually saw this episode months ago when I got a moody VCD of it from Ireland but I have to say this is the/my obvious favourite episode of series/season five.

With the episode watched and now on video tape, I board my car and leave Clacton to drive home listening to Radcliffe. Tonight I am paranoid of driving fast for some reason, paranoid of hidden pandas ever since I got caught/done for speeding doing this trip in early 2003.

When I get in I begin watching the Fahrenheit 9/11 DVD and it appears to be a lemon copy/DVD as the digital blips kick in half way through and make the disc unwatchable. I wonder if the authorities (powers that be) have purposely sabotaged the disc because Moore is now a general trouble maker. It’s a conspiracy. I have some post midnight chat with Sara on MSN before falling asleep watching the documentary which is still pretty much as dull as dishwater as it was on the cinema screen back in the summer.

np: Roots Manuva - Witness

2004-11-10T19:27:00.000Z

October 18 (Monday): If You’re Going To Write A Comedy Scene, You’re Going To Have Some Rat Feces In There. Monday morning and I stagger into work like the usual Monday morn zombie that is I. Things immediately look/feel/are better when Alan is in the office and he is in fine fettle. Does this mean that his baby is better? No exactly but the little ‘un now sounds somewhat more stable and Alan himself is upbeat and looks genuinely relieved to be back at work. Recent events with his new born have been genuinely saddening/upsetting and the only genuinely upsetting thing to occur in my life recently. And I am just a bystander/spectator, so for Alan to be going through all this and come into work with a smile makes him the best man I know at the moment.

Still, it doesn’t get me out of going to Acme East Painting for him though (ho ho). Again, I have a really good morning at Acme East Painting and actually get my bit done by lunch. Yes, this is a really good job/client. By lunchtime, I am finished and have a VAT return ready to present to the client. Cheers all round.

The remainder of the day sails by. I get back into the office early afternoon and swan about town briefly for lunch before attempting to get into into/pick up another job in the afternoon (easier said than done).

When I get home in the evening, they are showing a catch up episode of The Apprentice. Wahey, I get to see Tammy and just how/when she was eliminated. What a crock of shit! They also show the episode in which Sam got the boot and that guy was awesome but surely he couldn’t have been for real, the guy had/has “plant” written all over him. I love this show!

In the evening I fall asleep before The Sopranos comes on and that is all.

np: Rollins Band - Fool

2004-11-10T18:16:00.000Z

October 17 (Sunday): The Biggest Failure In Broadway History. I awaken from a dream situating myself on Colchester High Street, still going through last nights bad scenario. In the dream, Sarah continues to persist in stringing me along/around Colchester but now I have Who (from work) being all judging on me for not making a move, for leaving her behind.

Around 7.30 my mobile beeps and it is a text from Azmei saying she had an early night last night and she’s glad me and Sarah are talking again (ho ho) and that she’s sure she’s all right. This is optimism I don’t/can’t share.

This morning I feel partly demon seed, I feel scum of the earth whilst also at the same feeling like a complete victim. I think the best term I used last night was when I texted Stevo saying “I’m fucking mugging myself”.

Azmei and I continue to exchange texts about last night and it turns out that Sarah did indeed get home safely (surprise) but Azmei asks “did you upset her?”. I reply “I don’t think so but I shouldn’t have left her in town”. Azmei tells me “I’ll have a word with her” when really I sum things up better by stating “just give her a slap”.

Kinda shellshocked, kinda stunned all over developments and faux pas performed over the course of the previous 48 hours, I settle into some kind of Sunday morning routine/void. In the words of Guided By Voices; “I can’t socialise, I’ll be institutionalised”.

Pop World comes on the TV and I take that in, half fearful that I might begin to take music seriously again. As hard as I try to pull myself together, my mind is fried.

Sara comes online and enquires about last night. I semi tell all and Sara just hits me with a “told you so” whilst seeming to be really interested in telling me anything at all. I ask her how she eventually came down last night and it turns out she telephoned her other boy toy here in England (how great it felt to feel exclusive). Our exchange covering last nights events feel fruitless, especially when she also avoids addressing our own little exchange beforehand so then I just let it all out in some kind of moan, to which she shows me the door and puts me right (in her eyes). Eventually she goes and it’s a relief.

Late morning my mobile phone rings and I figure “here it comes, trouble/grief/flack” but the number ringing is PISA (the number for the AFC Wimbledon Pissed Independent Supporters Association). I pick it up and it’s Xavier not really knowing who the hell he is calling and likewise, initially I do not know who the hell exactly is calling me. It seems Xavier is after Stevo’s number for something or other, probably to make sure he got home all right and didn’t get beaten up by youths. I give him Stevo’s new number and that’s that.

Eventually I do the newspaper run around 1PM and get some food, purchasing like a peasant.

When I get back in I find that I have downloaded the first part of Some Kind Of Monster, the Metallica documentary that everyone is raving about. I begin watching it and its ok. It does however prompt me to begin downloading Metallica tracks (here comes a lawsuit).

Also on a download trip, I return from shopping to discover that I have downloaded the Ken Bigley beheading video. Now this is really nasty, horribly creepy and clocking in at five minutes. The clip opens with all this insane music blaring out and visuals of something Muslim or other. And then you get the shot of Bigley sat on the floor awaiting his fate. He speaks to the camera and the closing addresses from him and his captors thankfully take up the majority of the clip as when the eventual happens, fortunately very little is visible and to be honest, as jaded as I have become, it all does not look real again. I guess Bollywood have low production costs.

For the remainder of the afternoon I find myself listening to Henry Rollins MP3s and it manages to inspire me into actually doing some writing.

At 6.30 Emily texts to see if I am going to the pub quiz at the Hogshead tonight. I think it is multi text, not specifically addressed to me. As I result I don’t worry too much about ignoring it. I don’t know what is the matter with me? Here is a great opportunity to go out with someone I am genuinely interested in but instead I just sit home, remaining down in the dumps over the past two nights out. I my opinion, Colchester needs a break from after two nights running (excuses excuses).

At 7.00 there is a programme on BBC2 that I am really interested in. Basically it is a show about relocating to Dubai, where Sara lives! However this week, the family the BBC are relocating are/is this really obnoxious and arrogant Afghanistan family that got asylum in the UK. Now there is gratitude, turn you back on the country that took you in. Anyways, because of their arrogance the family in question on the school reach/stretch far beyond their means, boxing well above their weight, and by the end of the show are struggling to pull their shit together and failing miserably. It is really interesting to see Dubai though but to me it just looks like a richer version of Tenerife or something.

Whilst watching the show, Bella comes online and starts hitting me on MSN. It’s OK, nothing earth shattering, just Bella as usual directing me to various items of clothing/garments on Ebay that she wishes she could buy.

At 9PM the Music Hall Of Fame show is on Channel Four again, this week covering bands/artists from the eighties. It’s another great show, beginning with Guns N’ Roses who Henry Rollins shockingly has good words for. Go figure. When Shaun Ryder passes comment it is unbelievable, the man is fucking wrecked, almost recognisable looking bloated, with his voice obviously gone, pretty much now representing a fat Northern stand-up comedian. Get him back on the drugs fast! Where is Bez when you need him? The final act to be considered/suggested for the Hall Of Fame are the Beastie Boys. This blows my mind, they are so a nineties band. Oh well, I’m not going to get upset.

Around midnight, while I am still writing, I get Tom online ranting and seething, having just returned from a Hot Snakes show in Nottingham where someone (Texas John Gimp) has just upset him. He whinges about Nottingham, which is a surprise because I thought he loved it there, living in the little bubble music community thing that they have going on there.

np: Pulp – Common People

2004-11-03T01:01:00.000Z

October 16 (Saturday): A Talking Junkie. Today is a bad day. I wake up around 5 AM in a panic, immediately springing out of my bed to make sure I managed to get my mobile phone home last night. I did. In fact, it appears I even had presence of mind to put it on charger. Sometimes, there are some things that are pretty wrong with me. I go back to bed.

I probably re-awaken around 7.30 and then 9.30 and both times I curl back up to safety with my head pounding more than ever. Next to my bed is a bottle of water but it doesn't last long and won't go far in the prevention of a hangover.

All morning I am in'n out of grace until finally Chris emerges strongly at 11 AM blatantly wanting to get/go home. I get up and attempt to pull myself together, easier said than done. I stagger around the flat with a sore head for a few minutes and then I throw up into the toilet.

Eventually around midday I manage to pull us both out and give him a lift home. This trip is really a dangerous mistake and I should not have done it. As we near Stanway and Chris' house, I have to actually pull into the Co-op car park and park up because I think I am about to throw up. Somehow for some reasons the gods smile on me though and I don't bring up. Once I drop off (dump) Chris back at his, I buy the Saturday papers, get some food and return to Bohemian Grove and go back to bed.

In order to clear my mind (and conscience) I put on the Football Factory and attempt to kid/delude myself that that was how I was acting last night and that I am THAT cool. Yeah, I turn out to be so cool that I just fall straight back to sleep again (feeb).

I hang suspended until 3PM hits and its football. Today Millwall are away to Sunderland (an away trip Stevo really wanted to make) and I spend the afternoon keep tabs on that. Around 4PM Tom hits me on MSN, at which point I am still too hungover to do anything. Strangely/fortunately, our exchange actually has some substance and surprisingly clears my head (which is a bonus considering I only have four hours to sort myself out before I take Sarah out tonight). Millwall however end up losing 1-0 to Sunderland by a Kevin Muscat own goal, a very shitty result.

The afternoon lingers and soon it gets dark and turns into evening as I find myself slow in getting ready. I run a bath but I take forever to get into it as people keep logging onto MSN and pestering me. Did I say pester? Don't mean it. First Dad comes online followed by Richard and then finally Sara. Sara turns out to be most interesting as it is 2AM in Australia (where she is on work) and she has returned to her hotel room off her tits on coke, flying high as a kite. Sara actually sounds in a real state and I kind of feel obliged to talk her down, be there for her while her head is blown off and she is in a room on her own. I don't know what happens, during over conversation I find myself distracted attempting to get ready for my own social life. She brings up the whole "I love you" thing and tells me that I don't have to tell that to her. Fine. However tonight though, she just craves attention. When I tell her that I am going out with Sarah, she gets really pissed off, telling me how I shouldnâ€™t go and that I am an idiot for having anything to do with her. Jealous? Eventually I leave at 8PM after getting texts from Sarah going â€œyou havenâ€™t forgotten about me have you?â€?.

The night happens and it turns out to be another car crash occasion, that to be honest was on the cards in earnest. When I pick Sarah up around 8.15, she emerges from her house looking fairly pretty. We get in the car and head to town. Immediately there are chinks in the armour when she tells me that when she had those pops at me on MSN the other Friday they came at the end of a very hard week for her, one in which her doctor had offered to sign her off work for depression for two weeks. Why is this not surprising? Still emphasise with her and plod into town regardless. I park on the villain part of Crouch Street and we head towards Edwards with me telling her all about last night and my little flit/flirt with violence. I move paranoid with peripheral vision because the honest truth is that I would have no idea what the guy I started on looks like and personally I believe he would be fully entitled to just come up and smack me at the first opportunity. As we pass Samâ€™s Pizzeria (scene of the crime) there is a broken bottle (smashed glass) almost exactly where we stood last night. Sarah makes yokes (unfunny jokes) about me causing that commotion and I nervously laugh whilst at the same time still watching my back.

When we arrive at Edwards it is still relatively early and therefore still relatively laxed/relaxed. I buy the first round (me on cokes) and we begin talking/chatting, doing a general catch up. Very early on (almost too early on) I find my eyes rolling as she goes on about the situation between her and Randy Pan when Rarry caught them out. She tells me "I like him and he kind of likes me" no he fucking doesn't, he was taking the piss out of you you dumb fuck. For some reason (probably Drew's prize comments) she thinks that the people in our office think she is a bit of a slag when really I do not/cannot possibly think of or imagine a more tighter cunt (physically). This girl really thinks of herself as being much more interesting than she actually is.

Almost immediately then, the night is already a grind and I begin to wish I had stayed at home for some cyber love but I'm a good guy, I stick it out and put the effort in to stop the whole affair/night being one long drawn out nonversation (with the view to maybe getting some at the ending). That said though, soon I am very bored with it all: the company, the surroundings, the music, the ambience, the beverage.

Conversation shits to the hell night from July, a night she still holds in fine regards (sadist). She tells me how her work mates liked me (whereas I thought they were dull as dishwater and occasionally stomach churningly arrogant). I act surprised (as I genuinely am) and give her a sanitised run down of my opinions on them, mainly taking swooping pops at her managers, the jazzed up adults that reminded me of old nightmare people from my school days (daze).

As talk meanders further into work, I remember how Sarah had boasted to me that a manager-type from Capita's Manchester office had taken her out to dinner in London. I enquire further and it turns out that the whole affair was not really half as great as she had been selling it to me. Apparently the guy was past his forties and has since subsequently had a stroke, which in my mind is an understandable reaction to spending time with this mad Mcslim girl. One thing she however couldnâ€™t get straight in her mind is/was how she led the man on. She tells me how innocent the whole meal was but my god, if he took her to dinner with no real reason/agenda, what else would he have been wanting/expecting? Still, she claims/pleads innocence when obviously the girl either knows what she is/was doing or she is the stupidest person ever (which, come to mind, kinda fits also). Then again, bare in mind this is a stifled Muslim girl who has never had freedom or a real social life until now and there is now stuck in a state of flux/limbo, a perpetual state of catchup, having probably only just reached her teenage/first time getting drunk stage.

Gradually the night wears on slowly and Edwards begins to fill up with Chavs and a shocking about of oldsters all dolled up in their appearance and still remaining looking shitty (applicable to both sexes). Sarah asks me if I have anything going on my love life. â€œErm, Iâ€™m in fucking horrible Edwards with you on a Saturday night, does it look like I have?â€?. As I said earlier, dense. Still though, in a valiant attempt to keep thinks peachy (whilst really testing my patience) I ask her the same question back. She tells me that there is someone for currently which prompts me to bark back â€œwell why the fuck isnâ€™t he fucking here with you tonight then?â€?. More than likely it is some male Mcslim piece of shit, carefully bending his dogmatic religious rules/agenda to benefit his own end, to get his end way whilst this dippy girl gets lead on and half goes insane. Yeah, that little relationship/fling must be smouldering. Is it any surprise she says she was indecently assaulted.

And on the indecently assaulted front, she issue gets raised when she tells me how once she was â€œflashedâ€? by someone on a Colchester road called Priory Street. The thing is, Priory Street is smack in the centre of the rough side of Colchester town centre and even I would not go around/near there late at night (then again Randy Pan got mugged/robbed there at knife point once, so its not all bad then). Sarah then tells me how the guy (the flasher) then tried to get in her car with her! And here she is telling me how she didnâ€™t fancy him because he had a small cock! So, all in all, this brings about the question in/from me: â€œwas that when you were indecently assaulted then?â€?. And at this point she curls up physically and mentally and replies â€œI donâ€™t want to talk about thatâ€?. Shame that, I do/did.

The night gets old and she keeps knocking back the Alco pops as I get bored and fidgety as the fag smoke etc begins to get up my nose and back comes my hangover and general illness from all day. And then add to that I accidentally lean my white Black Flag shirt sleeve in some red wine (which never comes out).

Eventually conversation dies and I get to the point where I want to leave and when we donâ€™t leave, I begin to act like a kid. And this becomes my turning point as I drop the best behaviour mask and begin to ask bored questions beginning with â€œwhen did you last have sex?â€? shortly followed by â€œhave you ever had sex outside/outdoors?â€?.

We reach some kind of slipstream when she begins to tell me that I â€œhave no confidence with girlsâ€?. Is this derived from the fact tonight Iâ€™m finding most girls in this Chav den repulsive or by the fact that I am not hitting on Sarah because tonight she really isnâ€™t working for me. She adds that I need a girlfriend which makes me think â€œwell if things (â€œdatesâ€?) continue like this, there isnâ€™t much fear of thatâ€?. The final sticking the boot in turns out to be when she tells me that I should get a new image. She tells me that she did (got a new image) andâ€¦â€¦Iâ€™m not sold, sheâ€™s still a boring cunt it seems to me. She keeps telling me that I have lost weight when really I donâ€™t think I have. I think/refer to the Rat Pack episode of The Sopranos when the wired contractor told the same thing to Tony a couple of times and such insincerity (sucking up) only served to spring him in Tonyâ€™s mind as an FBI rat and eventually got him whacked (my god, what a tenuous link).

When I go to the bar to get drinks, I look at my reflection and know I really shouldnâ€™t be here. I know I look bad generally most of the time but tonight I look semi death warmed up with a real scowl and general air of negativity. When I return to Sarah I half expect to find some guy chatting her up and I relish the opportunity to converse like an arsehole. Then again, who the fuck is going to hit on that. Upon returning with drinks however I find her left, standing like a lemon staring vacantly into space (as is her general mindset it seems to me). I tell there that I half expected to return to find some guy hitting on her and she seems surprised by this statement (but nothing near as surprised as me with hindsight!). I tell her the truth though, how girls just have to wear low tops (such as herâ€™s tonight) and stick out their tits and some guy will hit on them. And I look around at the people around, now pissed and acting obnoxious (basically me last night) and figure â€œbeer goggles not on tonightâ€?.

Bored by now and really wanting to go, I start to go out of my way to insult her. When I finally see a genuinely good looking girl (an Oriental one), I say to Sarah â€œlook at that bamboo over there!â€? and she replies â€œdonâ€™t be racistâ€? to which I reply utterly ignorant on purpose: â€œno way, sheâ€™s fit!â€?. I also begin asking really personal questions, probably stopping short at/of â€œdo you shave your bush?â€?.

The sure sign of death to the evening is when I begin playing with my phone. I almost text Randy Pan to say â€œAzmeiâ€™s sister, fucking take herâ€?. Instead though I hop onto the GPRS to see what is on TV at the moment and just what I am missing (out on).

As she finishes another drink, I make gestures to make moves (go somewhere else) but she makes gestures to get another drink. By now it has come around to my turn/round but Iâ€™ll be fucked if Iâ€™m going elongate this hell any further. She however doesnâ€™t take the hint and goes and buys herself a drink, curiously a coke (her first non-Alco pop of the evening). I ask her â€œarenâ€™t you bored?â€? as we near the third hour mark of standing around like lemons having half arsed conversation moments and people watch Chavs in action (a term which, by the way, she does not know). She tells me sheâ€™s not bored and that â€œI just like listening to the loud music and being hereâ€?. Vacant lot, I tell her â€œyouâ€™re a dull girlâ€? and get away with it (Iâ€™m learning now you canâ€™t treat Mcslim girls as bad as you want and they will take it, it appears to be in their culture and learning).

Around this point my phone vibrates/rings and it is Stevo calling me from god knows where for some reason. However with all this noise (the DJ etc) going on, I cannot hear a fucking thing and it takes Stevo two calls to realise this. This does however prompt much activity on my phone as I begin texting people, expressing my boredom to anyone that will listen (and hopefully reply).

Sarah begins to flag and whine eventually, strangely moaning like a child â€œmy arm hurtsâ€? followed by â€œmy tummy hurtsâ€?. I look in in disbelief and like its one big laugh comments/jokes â€œbet its like being around/with a ten year oldâ€? to which I respond â€œa ten year old would be more funâ€?. I think I bring up the indecently assaulted thing again with a comment like â€œif you get into this kind of state, no wonderâ€¦â€¦â€? and she curls up inside herself again and then suddenly goes â€œIâ€™m going to be sickâ€?. Whoops, did I trigger some psychosomatic? Whatever/regardless, she flies/disappears off to the toilets. I finally find some humour in the evening as the realisation/fact that only I could/would get a girl so drunk (with view toâ€¦.) that she would throw up in the process. This is so typically me, especially with alcohol, the way I do/take things too far.

It is at this point that I look across the room (with a smirk) and see Rob (the Ipswich fan) from English class. I would have said â€œhiâ€? were I not patiently waiting for Sarah to return from throwing.

As time carried on, thoughts appear in my mind of â€œwhat if she has passed out in a cubicle? How will I get home?â€? but eventually she returned after about a ten minute break, a break long enough for me to manage to finish drinking her drink. Upon arrival, wiping her chops, she moans that her drink (almost full when she left it) had gone but I begin to lead her outside telling her â€œIâ€™m taking you home (but not to fuck or anything)â€?. She whinges that she doesnâ€™t want to leave but then also that she doesnâ€™t feel very well and that maybe she should have something to eat. Torn mentally, she shows some reluctance at leaving to which I respond â€œIâ€™ll get you thrown out, Iâ€™ll tell the bouncers that youâ€™ve been sickâ€?. I however grab her cardigan that she is holding and lead her out of Edwards.

When we get outside things go even more pear shaped as Sarah now insists that she doesnâ€™t want to go home (â€œitâ€™s still earlyâ€?) and begins bitching me out that now she will have to pay to get back into Edwards. By this stage, I have fucking had enough and I make up lies like â€œIâ€™ve texted your sister and she says to take you homeâ€?. Undeterred, like a nutter, Sarah goes â€œyouâ€™re lying, how late is Yates open?â€? and she begins walking towards Yates. Like a div I follow her but also I begin texting Azmei saying â€œyour sister is really pissed, what do I do?â€?.

When I get to Yates and attempt to catch up with Sarah, there is a really big bouncer on the door stopping people from getting in. I am completely happy/down with that however I really should be looking out for Sarah, I feel obliged. I text her saying â€œthey wonâ€™t let me into Yatesâ€? and walk off back to my car pissed off, leaving her stranded in town. I donâ€™t know what person ultimately is the more reckless/irresponsible but if this is how Sarah acts, no wonder she got â€œindecently assaultedâ€? in the first place and unless she learns some common sense social skills, it may only be a matter of time before it happens again. Especially when arseholes like me leave her stranded in town, with their patience having been pushed through all limits.

I return home, hoping that Sara is still online and that I can speak to her some, it seems she cares for me more than Sarah ever will. Unfortunately though, there is no sign of her. Tom however is online and I speak to him about events in an effort to clear my conscience. He tells me that I appear to have acted responsibly. I glad I can convince him because I sure canâ€™t convince myself on that issue.

So ultimately tonight I manage to get a female Pakistani Muslim drunk at the beginning of Ramadam? Is this as bad as it sounds? Ho ho.

On TV is the movie The Cell. I once saw this stoned around Bâ€™s house with her weirdo Colchester friends (well, nu metal semi Goths). I canâ€™t decide if this film sucks as much as I suspect it does. It is fucking ridiculous, adding a sci-fi bent to a Hannibal Lector movie with a touch of S&M whilst having a pretty good cast. Vince Vaughan however does look a total mess while Jennifer Lopez all gothed up vampy looks the most amazing that she is ever likely to.

Around midnight, I text Azmei again telling her that I am really concerned about Sarah (lie!). I am actually semi surprised not to have been sent grief giving text messages or calls to pick Sarah up. Not good.

The night ends with the Peter Cook and Dudley Moore version of Hound Of The Baskervilles. It shouldnâ€™t but it sends me straight to sleep.

np: Primal Scream â€“ Swastika Eyes

2004-11-01T01:57:00.001Z

You're cautious, a bit paranoid. You left the scene for the suburban married life, but somehow, touble seems to follow you and piss on your mornings. You are quick to share your point of view, but have no problems with giving in to the requests of wives and wolves.

Take the What Pulp Fiction Character Are You? quiz.

2004-10-31T11:19:00.000Z

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

2004-10-31T11:16:00.000Z

October 14 (Thursday): Who Let You In? Dream: I go on a day trip to what turns out to be Disneyland in Florida, although it isn't very recognisable, looking more like a tube station in London. I go as part of a four person party including myself, Mark, Ben, Chris, Stevo and Tom (you do the math). Towards the end of the day I find myself exclusively with Mark and it begins to get chilly and the mother/daughter combo from my English course begin talking to me, the mother especially, in an attempt to get my coat from me (I have two layers and am not cold). Eventually she gets it from/off me and when it becomes time to leave I canâ€™t get it back, although I donâ€™t mind because it means hanging (inadvertently) with the daughter who I semi fancy. Eventually the old man comes along and I get my coat back and we leave â€œDisneylandâ€? as it gets to closing time, the exit being like a foyer in a cinema. When we get back after our daytrip to Disneyland Florida (!) four of us sit talking over a table at Wilson Marriage Centre and one of the downys I recognise at the centre from ten years ago recognises me and begins talking to me. Ten years on, he appears to have recovered (or at least improve mentally) and I/we have a nice conversation, pure and optimistic.

I wake, dry throated but surprisingly without a hangover. I hit Sara on MSN for a few words from Australia. After a prolonged exchange, it turns out that she might be coming back to England for a couple of weeks in November. I should be excited but instead I am filled with dread.

I have discovered the first Foo Fighters record in the biggest way, with hindsight it is SO good

Hard times. These are the days that get sent to test us. I think by rights, I really really should have woken up this morning with some kind of minor hangover/headache, especially considering my dry throat but no, my mind comes clear as can be. The walk into work turns out to be a breeze when stand-in DJ Scott Mills cheers me up by playing Estelle and the new Graham Coxon singles ("Freakin' Out") which some reason this morning (unlike previously) sounds amazing.

At work today, I need a solid day after slacking yesterday afternoon after getting back from Kentford/Kennett and really need to get Acme Sheds done and dusted, which really is within the realms of reality providing I work on it solidly.

The day however takes a turn for the worst when Melchard phones over to Chernobyl (our office, division 2) asking Stevo to tell me to go up into the loft in the main office for him. Oh yeah, that'll happen. That actually is really taking the piss, what possible part of his mentality deems it sensible to get me to up sticks, go all the way over to our other office and root around in the loft, where Jack has previously stated I am too heavy to go up into anyway. I become belligerent, happy to let the request drift and float away, probably being passed onto to someone more appropriate. Stevo however does not let it go, instead taking it as a lack of respect to his authority and he promptly goes over the road to comply with the request on behalf of myself and Sandip, who then gets dragged into the whole issue. Talk about a storm in a tea cup but when Stevo goes up into the loft himself, the issue gets blown out of proportion and for the remainder of the morning a very nasty, hostile atmosphere is born, causing chilly me to become paranoid to the point that I don't want to go into the main office for being collared and reprimanded for my apparent lack of respect and distinct disregard for orders. As I say, storm in a tea cup but when Stevo returns from whinging to Melchard having been told "you should excerpt your authority" and Sandip returns after being asked "why wouldn't you go up" and then telling me "you're in trouble", I just look vacantly into space like Tim in The Office in one of his mind-blowing, jobsworthy disbelief moments. Eventually Melchard comes over to our office to do something with Emma, and a now paranoid to the hills Jason braces himself for a bout of shit, which only fails to happen as Melchard and myself only exchange salutations. When he leaves the office, Stevo cannot believe he has not gotten me into trouble and Sandip makes comment "he's scared of you" which regards to Melchard. Like fuck he is and after all this drama, I suspect this may come back to haunt me at some point. Once more Manager Steve upsets the roost. Give him a book/course/lesson on assertiveness vs aggressiveness.

By lunchtime, the day has been an utter grind and when I am able to get some fresh air and spend some time on my own, it is much relief. As I stagger around town drained, I bump into Emily from frisbee in Marks & Spencers. As usual she is a glow of energy and at least acknowledges (these days I couldn't want/desire more from a person). As I act near comatose (nice one), she mentions the Sunday night quiz and asks me if I'm going this week and that I should go, even if Mark isn't about now (to hold my hand with the frisbee bods). She gives me her number so I can.....whatever.....before the quiz. I act so goofy, it is embarrassing and when I leave, I storm out in a hurry, accidentally knocking some garments on the floor. They're old granny clothing and I don't want to fucking touch them, so I ask a nice lady near me to hang it up for me. Dickhead.

I wind up buying lunch from Boots, a very unhealthy looking chocolate sundae after a three piece chicken sandwich (where did my health kick/streak/trend/fad go?).

Fortunately for my remaining sanity, the afternoon pretty much passes without incident, I large to everyone about getting a girl's phone number and get Acme Sheds done and dusted. Louise happens to mention that she used to have Emily's mum teach her English at Tendring High School, so this gives me an excuse to text her, just if it is to just inadvertently give her my number. Still though, all afternoon Stevo and I hurl insult after insult and muddy abuse at eachother, to the point that when it gets to home time, he doesn't even want to give me a lift home. Whoops.

When I get in, after my laboured half hour walk, my computer is playing up royally, refusing to go back online and download any lovely new MP3s and/or the latest episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 that I am downloading. My phone beeps though and it is a reply from Emily (cool, she didn't stiff me with a bum number) saying "Cool. My crazy mum is famous! What the name of the girl who knows her? Make sure you come to the quiz! Emily x".

Before my English class, I do however get chance to watch tonight's episode of The Apprentice. Seems old Donald Trump has been hard at it and since monday, Tammy is no longer on the show and has been fired. I fucking fancied the arse off Tammy. Tonight the utterly revolting Omarosa (or something) finally gets kicked to the curb, about five episodes too late it seems to me.

English class this week is really really hard work, I feel utterly exhausted and too tired to give it any heart, I am very much lacking in enthusiasm, especially for the poetry of Christina Rossetti. At least however though, this week Emma is back in class. Early on we get our essays handed back to us and teacher says their standard was very encouraging. I worry about getting mine back and when I do my mark is a "strong C/low B". Not bad! Cheers me up some. Sadly however, she later breaks us up into groups which means I can't sleep my way through this week's class, I have to actually participate. I wind up in a group with the Timothy guy from Thorpe who appears to be class pet and the girl who comes to the class with her mum who I recognise from a pissed night out last year when I semi fancied her and she turned out to be a friend of Loxleyâ€™s brother Jeff Tim. Our little team hardly sparks though and we come up with limited ideas, my particularly limited as I just donâ€™t get/enjoy poetry. Luckily though we get saved by the bell before we have to speak to the class and we live for another week.

When I get in, a drama called Sex Traffic about Eastern European prostitution has already started. It is grim as fuck but all the more interesting for it.

My evening ends with a real personal horror as my every flailing PC dies, the hard drive/disk is just full to the brim and I can do nothing about it. I am now experiencing problems with my PC due to broadband that I never had prior to installing the software. Hard times.

np: Graham Coxon - Freakin'Out

2004-10-29T17:14:00.000Z

Hunter S. Thompson watching the football. Bless.

2004-10-28T20:46:00.000Z

October 13 (Wednesday): We Regret To Inform You. Another day in Suffolk and I grab the bubble car Micra and leave Colchester at 8.15 (intended leave time 8.00) and head up the A14 to (yet again!) a soundtrack of accountancy teaching tapes. I arrive in Kentford just after 9.30, thinking that I have already passed the place.

My morning there goes really smoothly but still I do not manage to get away all that early, actually leaving around 1.45. On my drive back up the A14 I listen to Colin and Edith and some days these are just agreeable and not in the least annoying. Unlike the A14 which in my opinion is a road just as bad as the A12 any day.

Once I get back into Colchester, I stop by at the Highwoods Tesco and buy the most unhealthy of lunches: some reduced savoury bagel and a bag of Tesco Bombay mix. The hour hits 3PM and I find myself still eating lunch, any cohesive attempts at doing any work are rendered futile. Instead I sit down and write my English homework, much to the annoyance of Stevo. The problem is, the essay examining a Christina Rossetti poem â€œA Coast Nightmareâ€� is due tomorrow and if we are going out to watch football tonight (Stevo has called off five-a-side as the England game begins at 5.30), there is no way I will be able to get it done in time. Still, this fact is not registered by Stevo who bitches like a cow and I even catch on my PC at one point, reading it like a sneak.

As the rain pisses down, Ben turns up at our office at 4.50 PM to watch football. We call him in and all attempts at work ends for the day. This afternoon, in addition to being arsey about my work, Stevo has been a total flake in deciding where to watch the football tonight, its not as if Azerbaijan v England is much of a crowd puller. I suggest the usual reliable haunt of the Wig & Pen but no, for reason thatâ€™s not good enough for him. Instead he has been suggesting going to The Dragoon or The Drury, for reasons only known to him because those two pubs are rough as fuck. As alternatives I suggest Quilters or The Curve Bar but no dice from Stevo there. Eventually we pull out and head to The Dragoon where Stevo embarrassingly asks Andy there if he is showing the football and Andy looks at him as if he is an idiot and says (in his gruff Scottish tone) â€œainâ€™t got Skyâ€�. Eventually, painfully, we come full circle and wind up in the Wig & Pen. And I have to admit, I soon realise why Stevo was objecting, I donâ€™t really like it there much either.

It doesnâ€™t turn out to be the most memorable of nights, as uber pondlife chavs surround us as we all watch the most boring of matches with England looking even more dull than on Saturday. I as a result begin to tear into drinking and with each Stella get louder and more obnoxious, not really caring when the carthorse Michael Owen scores for England. Like a wanker, I even find myself cheering for Azerbaijan towards the end as England, through beer goggles, look more inept than ever. Three Stellas on and I find myself semi raging, just talking bollocks the whole way through the match. Light relief occurs when we look towards the entrance and there once again is the Hunter S. Thompson lookalike (now sporting a Russian hat) stood by the door peaking in, watching the match. As part of care in the community, someone please buy him a fucking beer and let him in the warmth! By the end of the game and Englandâ€™s lacklustre 1-0 victory in the middle of nowhere, I am three Stellas strong and bang up for it. Outside the rain pelts down and there is a sudden urgency for food. Stevo steers us towards Samâ€™s Pizzeria on Crouch Street where we get treated to yet another winner pizza from the weird Eastern Europeans. Stevo and Ben talk football bollocks while I dig in, eating yet more unhealthy food (5/8 of the pizza), regularly checking my heart for stopping.

We stop by the office to pick up our and stuff and Stevo, the ever sport, gives us lifts home. I get in and Iâ€™m semi all over the show, these days I am the king of the lightweights. As predicted I accomplish nothing, only managing to watch this weekâ€™s episode of Arrested Development through beer goggles.

np: Brand New Heavies - Sometimes

2004-10-28T20:44:00.000Z

October 12 (Tuesday): What To Think. Another day generally of my "can't be arsed" attitude towards things. I leave my flat late (again!) and look set to arrive at work late (again!). Before I arrive however, I get Ivan on my mobile asking me if I am actually coming into work today, which isn't as cheeky as I make it sound (sorry).

This is the start of my working and here I am in the office when I really wasn't expecting to be today.

Early morning and Barry takes me over to South East Painting as another cover job for Alan I have been given. Barry tells me he had told me that he had arranged the meet up last week. Nope, he didn't tell me, he actually told Louise that she would be doing the job instead of me. Confusion rains but I don't care, I'm happy to be doing more jobs out of the office, something different, something to put me into a different perspective in their minds/impression. As he drives us over to Cadman House in Stanway we drive past a schoolgirl to whom Barry pervs over and makes comment. Jesus Christ! We then pass said school and it is his old school and he tells me how much he enjoyed going there, which might explain why he acts like a fucking school kid sometimes these days.

The job in hand at Acme Painting appears to be pretty simple, perhaps just time consuming. The woman (the client) is really nice and actually really fit for an older lady. I make arrangements to go over there Friday and do the job, it is another one with the VAT deadline looming.

At lunchtime I manage to blag a lunch off Stevo at Edwards. I am such a slag/ponce but really I have to count the pennies these days in ways Stevo is unlikely to understand until he gets a home/place of his own. As a result I placate him during lunch and act enthusiastic and keen. And it isn't overly difficult as sat around us are some really attractive young ladies, this is obviously where the fit girls lunch. I then look to the corner on my left hand side and there is Lindsey with her blonde friend looking as if she is having a right old moan about things (her posture and body language looking fucking terrible). And as a result, I put more effort into appear to have (be) fun and it turns out to be the best lunch I have had out in a long time.

In the afternoon, I arrange another appointment at Acme Harness for Wednesday (tomorrow).

At the end of the day, as I sign myself out in the staff diary, I find myself in the reception with Jack and Who. Jack asks me if I am "busy" and I reply "I'm going out a lot" and Jack retorts "that's not what I asked, with that answer you sound like a politician". He asks me how Acme Harness is going and I tell him "good". He then enquires about Acme Maintenance and I grimace, turning to Who and asking if Kaye need be involved while we are "playing catchup". I comment that yesterdays trip/appointment had been very "frustrating" to which Jack replies "now you know how we feel", whatever that is supposed to mean. It gets decreed that me and Who will go up there next week to do a tidy/clean up job without Kaye being there but as Jack says this I pull a face at him as if to say "just leave it to me". However, I don't think ESP is my forte. The impromptu meeting comes to an end and jokes get made about overcharging Acme Harness tomorrow. Ha ho, I'm left feeling like I'm banging my head against the wall.

I take the bubble mobile back to my house and then fly home to Holland to see my olds and watch the Sopranos. Upon arrival, once more they are full of news and they tell me proudly that they have sold their house already. I don't want them to sell up in Holland-on-Sea, this place is quiet and better suited to OAPs than the apparent hustle and bustle of a new flat bang in the centre of Colchester. Also, it will accumulate value quicker than any fucking flat ever will. Nightmare.

I settle down into the front room and begin watching some old Nirvana documentary on MTV2. Dad comes in and watches it with me and has never felt so cheesy watching Nirvana footage.

Dad remains around also watching most of The Sopranos with me, which is pretty cool. Tonight is the anger management episode of season five (episode ten) where Janice loses it at a kids soccer match and Tony, Tony B and Christopher retreat to the country to relax and dig up decaying bodies. Dad actually laughs at some of the episode but doesnâ€™t stay the course and unfortunately misses the fantastic climax of Tony winding up Janice over her missing son and the priceless grin/smile of satisfaction Tony amounts in the process all to the soundtrack of the Kinks' I'm Not Like Everybody Else (a song Cocker spookily used to love back in the day). This and the next three episodes of season five really are the epoch of the series.

I drive home listening to Mark Radcliffe on Radio 2 with Travis in session in Liverpool I believe. Its not a normal show from Radcliffe and therefore not as good but itâ€™s a comfort all the same. When I get out of my car, past midnight, Janice Long is on the station playing International Bright Young Thing by Jesus Jones, a song I have not heard in a million years.

My night ends.

np: Foo Fighters - Alone & Easy Target

2004-10-28T20:43:00.000Z

October 11 (Monday): The Cry Of A Hungry Baby. This morning is another trip to Pipeline Maintenance, the worst possible scenario for a Monday being the hard times trip/drive up the A14 at the beginning of the week to Mildenhall. Fuck Suffolk and its ridiculous speed limits.

I get into Mildenhall and the clientâ€™s shortly after 9AM and my arm and neck are still caning with pain, even to the point I blag some Nurofen from the clients. Is it down to the all driving I have done lately I wonder/consider?

My day at the clientâ€™s is pretty frustrating as once more I play the supervisory role to the bossâ€™s daughter (Martin Fowlerâ€™s stalker lookalike) and watch her try to play catch-up on accounts behind back to April this year, knowing that I could put/push the information into the computer at at least twice the speed. This is my second day of this current run on/at this job and in the summer I was criticised for taking too long, taking two days doing double what this current spell is achieving.

By the time 4PM comes around, and after working through lunch, I am bored rigid, next to tearing my hair out and apparently it shows and the clients can tell. Not good. Still, it is a genuine relief to be out of there today and heading back up/down the A14 home to safety.

When I get home there is this new reality TV show on BBC2 tonight called The Apprentice which features Donald Trump giving jobs and tasks to various Yank business types view to winning a spot on/in his corporate setup. The show is the greatest! Suits without shame. And the guy who almost gets eliminated tonight is complete insane, its excellent telly.

The evening turns out to be a real no no and I have every intention of staying up to watch Father Ted and The Sopranos but instead I just pass out knackered/tired.

np: Fitz Of Depression â€“ See Me Hear Me

2004-10-28T20:41:00.000Z

October 10 (Sunday): Patriotism, Pepper, Professionalism. Dream: I'm, walking around Clacton, escaping what seems to be a foster family that I am living with and it gets me in trouble with the police. Later we are playing five-a-side when the game reaches an abrupt halt. Jack appears to be feigning injury, Jez gets in a huff and begins packing up and it becomes apparent that I am dropped. I speak to Isabelle and she tells me that I have been instructed to stop playing in order to concentrate on my A-Level. Bollocks. Basically, in the real world, I get the inkling that Jack is about to fuck me over again.

I wake up and it is another slow Sunday, Sunday's are a real drag. Sadly, my day mainly consists of too much FIFA 2005 on Playstation 2 and I only get better and better at during the course of my day while I really should be concentrating on either: writing, revising or sorting my flat out.

Eventually I do a newspaper run but head home to safety almost immediately, Sundays are for stronger minds than mine.

The remainder of the day pretty much consists of zip.

In the afternoon I make attempts at watching Eternal Sunshine Of A Spotless Mind on DVD but it just manages to send me to sleep, my now regular/weekly Sunday afternoon nap it seems. Only, I always awaken from it feeling utterly lazy and pathetic with a big line of guilt running down my back like a white stripe.

In the evening I do the do, in preparation of my trip to Mildenhall in the morning. I do actually manage to get into writing some but when I try to soup it by taking a shot of Rocket Fuel coffee, for some reason pangs of agony hit me on my left shoulder and neck and turn me into a cripple unable of any chores.

TV saves the day however, showing the nominees from the nineties for the Music Hall Of Fame. It is an utter farce but the segments on Oasis and Nirvana are pretty cool, even if they make it all seem really old and dated, and having Henry Rollins comment on prime time TV about the Spice Girls is worth the price of admission in itself. That and Steve Albini on primetime commenting on the career of Nirvana. Good show in the end but I have this horrible, nagging feeling that Radiohead will win whilst also being humourless and dreary dull.

However, it does not put and end to my neck and shoulder pains and they are in full strength as I turn in for the night.

np: Living Colour - Love Rears It's Ugly Head

2004-10-28T20:39:00.000Z

October 9 (Saturday): Sad Songs Are Natureâ€™s Onions. Saturday morning and last night I had/have another dream. Todayâ€™s dream I emerge from involves the wellbeing of my flat and mainly the communal area and the landing outside my door. At some point in the dream, I open my door to leave my flat to discover that the landing has been smashed to pieces and the bars on the staircase have almost all been knocked out. I appear to be leaving my flat to meet up with/welcome old school faces back into my world/life, the main two school faces being Greg Nelson (whose Dad I have been seeing at Wilson Marriage Centre lately) and Merrem Jones. My initial suspicions are that they have something to do with the general decay but then I also wonder whether the mess is down to my â€œhunkâ€� neighbour who actually looks like a tarted up David Platt. What on earth should I do/read into this dream? Jason, leave all thoughts of school behind.

Once up, I canâ€™t help but get bang on the Playstation 2 again and get more in FIFA 2005. This game gets better with each play and when I play as England vs Wales, we win 2-0 with Rooney getting both goals. Looks a good bet to me. I also find myself almost texting Louise, the West Ham fan, when Millwall (me) beats West Ham 5-0 to tell her how realistic the game is.

I also MSN with Sara some, who isâ€¦â€¦.somewhere.

Mid morning, the joys of getting my phoneline back from the internet because of installing broadband hits home when some Asian cunt is on the line trying to get me to change my phone line and â€œsave me money at no extra costâ€�. And he phones me just as Polly the trolley dolly is on kids TV in her French maids outfit. Motherfucker. I get a bit arsey on the phone to the guy, god knows what fucking country he is calling me from. When he asks me if I ever phone abroad I shout â€œNO WAY!â€�. The arsehole pronounces my surname wrongly, which rubs me up the wrong way and when he tells me he is about to transfer me to his manager (the closer) I begins shouting down the line â€œwhat are you on about? What are you doing?â€�. He promptly says â€œbyeâ€� but indeed succeeds in managing to piss me off, albeit with a little snigger on my part.

I tell Sara about it and then leave for home to watch the football. I stop off via Tesco and buy Eternal Sunshine Of A Spotless Mind on DVD just because I feel like watching it again.

I arrive home in good time, catching some new satirical radio shows on Radio 2 I now really enjoy, its as if The Treatment never went away.

England v Wales turns out to be a really wanky match. England are the source of no end of disappointment in our nation of football fans and this only highlights why. Today Erection is playing with three up front, an utter sign of disrespect for Wales but also a reality of lost souls up front, getting in each others ways. And Michael Owen is the worst, with things going wrong for him at Real Madrid, he only serves to act completely out for himself on the face of todayâ€™s performance, right up to the way he lays claim for Frank Lampardâ€™s goal. And Lampardâ€™s goal is a fantastic relief when it flies in, its scarily good how many goals he is scoring for England from midfield. Hey, its not as if the truly overrated Jermaine Defoe is going to actually do anything. The game actually turns out to be a minor shambles and a Wales equaliser would probably have been deserved before half time and would most certainly have made it a better match/game. The second half happens and turns out to be notorious for the actions of David Beckham and little else. Granted his goal is fucking extraordinary but his actions in fouling Ben Thatcher (ex-Millwall) and getting booked only taste/smell of an arrogant primadonna retaliating with an air of â€œhow dare you foul me, Iâ€™m a superstar and untouchableâ€�. Beckham just reminds me of certain people I used to know at school, the untouchables, the ones who were head of the football teams (the jocks) and actually appeared to be feared by the teachers. Then again, these are also the people I see these days trawling kids around, looking unemployed and the people who do not appear on Friends United because theyâ€™re obviously too poor to be online. What happened, didnâ€™t your football careers happen for you? Rant over. (In the following days, Beckhamâ€™s subsequent comments only reveal him to be more backwards than I thought but realise). I donâ€™t know, the attitude just reminds me of things I see playing five-a-side sometimes.

The game ends in disappointment but at least it was a victory. Focus soon switches to Eurosport (?) where Northern Ireland v Azerbaijan is on. I watch the game for about five minutes and suddenly feel like slashing my throat, it is very bad. And the country playing Northern Ireland just looks like a bunch of Taliban rejects/wannabes. The games ends a predictable 0-0 but luckily I donâ€™t waste much of my life on it.

Saturday evening turns out to be France v Republic Of Ireland live on BBC2. For some reason, there is something almost romantic about international football from France on a Saturday night, I canâ€™t just transport my mindset across the channel and a glorious Parisian night (albeit stereotypical). This match turns out to be game of the day by a mile, the football Ireland plays is actually exciting and unconventional. On paper, the Irish team is pretty pants but this is a team with heart and fight. And especially against such a lacklustre team as France should definitely not be. Sadly though, the most memorable part of the first half does turn out to be Roy Keane running off the pitch having to change his pants. As the game carries, it becomes evident that Ireland are the much more dangerous team of the two and the Arsenal â€œsuperstarsâ€� really do not appear to have any game whatsoever. Towards the end of the game, as I find myself asking â€œwho goes Clinton Morrison actually play for?â€�, they almost sneak a win against a most impotent French team which really should not be. The game however ends at 0-0 after a thrilling end. Now they just need to put Steven Reid back in the team (ho ho).

I leave late for a Saturday night (around 10pm) listening to Westward on the radio except its just some guy standing in and, more so than Timothy, he is the bomb. When I get in, I donâ€™t last long and get lost to the evening.

np: Nas â€“ Bridging The Gap

2004-10-28T20:38:00.000Z

October 8 (Friday): Like Chickensâ€¦Delicious Chickens. This morning, out of nowhere, I awaken from a dream about my Dad dying, not so much the occurrence but more the aftermath, the hospital visits, the funeral and the general duties. It is the worst imaginable dream going, it makes me feel old and immature but also vulnerable and 100% depressed upon waking up and beginning my day.

I drive into work and drive out of work in the horrible bubble car, not another thing happens today as far as I can recall.

Late in the afternoon I check the BBC news on my phone GPRS and it turns out that there are reports of a video of Ken Bigleyâ€™s demise being distributed to Reuters. And that one is that, really it was only a matter of time in earnest.

Today is the day that EA FIFA 2005 comes out and in the newspaper it is advertised as being only Â£24.99 at PC World. This turns out to be bollocks as I head straight to PC World after work and get charged Â£29.99. Whatever though, FIFA 2005 is much better than FIFA 2004, quicker and easier to play, Iâ€™m well into it. Also whilst in Stanway, I go to Sainsburys and buy the sickliest, most unhealthy chocolate cereal for my eveningâ€™s dinner.

This evening Sarah Shah texts me out of the blue, asking if I would like to go for a drink tomorrow night. Why is it that she always seems to want to go out when England play matches? I tell her â€œthis weekend isnâ€™t good for me, maybe next weekâ€� when really I think I might be better for me just to ignore. She soon shoots back though â€œits all right, Iâ€™m going with Darien nowâ€�. Like I give a goddamn.

I play FIFA 2005 until late and then go to bed, a very thrilling Friday evening in the life of JGRAM.

np: Mudhoney â€“ Poisoned Water

2004-10-28T20:37:00.000Z

October 7 (Thursday): Eat Rotten Fruit From A Shitty Tree. Today, I find myself back on the road again, heading up the A14 towards another one of Crisâ€™ clients, this time, today the lucky company is Pipeline Maintenance in Mildenhall (home of a very prominent US airbase).

I wake up as per usual at 7AM and have the best intentions to leave at 7.30AM in order to arrive at my destination for 9AM. However, this does not quite happen, instead I just about make it out the door at 7.45AM, still half asleep.

Just like Tuesday, I drive up the A14 listening to my BBP/ACCA tape/cassette, ragging the tits of the bubble car Micra, a loser mobile for poor women if ever there was one. Today I also listen to Light & Magic by Ladytron and laugh my arse off at the distortion of the stereo speakers when I max it.

Against the odds, I make great progress and arrive at the clients at 9.20AM. When I arrive, people here act happy to see me, I feel liked at this client/company and I like them back just as much, we are lucky really, we have many nice/cool clients.

The day begins healthily as bacon rolls get ordered all around and I get treated, people just seem to love to buy food for me. I begin showing the bossâ€™s daughter (who looks like Martin Fowlerâ€™s stalker on Eastenders) what to do until Cris gets involved and tells me to do something else.

It turns out to be a really long day, I work through lunch as I observe what she does. And it is processing/inputting that I could do in half the time. And then another lady turns up to observe, it turns out that she will be doing/taking over the Sage in the near future. What is going on? This is definitely a case of too many cooks here, why on earth are there three of us gawping at Sage, especially with the slowest of the three putting the actual information on. Bad management/organisation baby.

I leave Mildenhall around 4.30 and get home around 5.50, in time to get ready for my English class tonight.

English class tonight is semi hard work, after my day running around East Anglia, I am shattered and the last thing I want to do is sit through a class until 9.30. And extra woe, Emma isnâ€™t about tonight. Once more, we are studying Christina Rossetti and tonight focusing on one of her longer poems called Goblin Market. After break, we get paired off into groups to do mini talks to the class. Nightmare. I get paired off with the Ipswich fan called Rob who actually turns out to be really cool and was telling me how heâ€™d smoked some pot before the lesson and what considering finishing off his joint at break time. Excellent, Iâ€™ve found the stoner of the group, my new drug buddy. Teacher gives us two pages to analyse and review to the class and me and him tackle the poem with about as much sensivitivity as you could/can expect out of two young males into football. And then it doesnâ€™t help when we go and critique the wrong two pages. Whoops. However, the class is pretty cool as I finally hook up there with someone that isnâ€™t Emma and, as childish as it sounds, make a new friend.

It doesnâ€™t however stop me from going home utterly shattered, almost falling asleep upon arrival at Hollytree Court.

I do however receive an email from Eva tonight, not saying much but wishing me well in my upcoming â€œsnipâ€�.

np: Ladytron - Fire

2004-10-28T20:30:00.000Z

October 6 (Wednesday): It's Insane, This Guy's Taint. I wake up this morning and broadband has officially arrived in Jason Graham's world as through the night I have successfully downloaded episodes of Meet Ricky Gervais, South Park and Kids In The Hall. I find myself spending the early part of my day, staring at my computer at tiny AVI files of some of the greatest/funniest TV shows of the last few years. It's a beautiful thing.

Getting up today and facing the world is yet another day of late up and late in. Where is my heart? Before leaving for work, I take one of the golf clubs from the boot of the bubble car and place it into the boot of my Focus. It is mine now.

Today is Azmei's birthday and shortly after 9 AM I text her "happy birthday". I get no reply immediately, eventually I barely get any reply at all. Ignorant cunt.

I arrive at work this morning (after my day on the road) to discover that various jobs of mine have been given to Sandip and Lulu. Now that really makes me feel needed. And in its place I am handed three little income and expenditure jobs, jobs that are the lowest of the low, real no brainers. Jokingly, I nearly cry. And then I go over to the main office where Jack ignores me, which pretty much sets the scene/tone for my day within thirty minutes of arrival at work.

Mid morning I get a telephone call from Nat West who seem really eager to give me a loan, no questions. I get calls like this regularly from these lot, hustling/hassling me trying to get/talk me into taking loans that are not necessarily the most financially sound options, they must think I am really green. I hear the guy out though and it sounds like a loan will be very easy to get, it is just how good the deal will be.

At lunchtime, with Stevo not about, I head to town with Lulu and after getting my free WWF DVD from Woolworths (a promo from The Sun), we head to Costa and do lunch there. Costa is tonnes, really nice. Corporate coffee house culture appears to have hit Colchester in the best way. I know this isn't my first time here but it is my first time macking the crowd/dwellers, mostly fit, good-looking young people. Conversation with Lulu is so so but it does shock me when talking about relationships that she actually admits to me that girls do indeed "expect more these days". Seems Lulu is about to leave home for the first time with her other half as current living arrangements are creating tension.

In the afternoon, I see Purple Haired Girl for the first time in weeks. As ever she looks fantastic, cutting edge gorgeous. And today, on both occasions passing Chernobyl, she looks in. I smile at her like there is something wrong with me, at probably ten years younger than me, she is so out of my league (old timer).

Later afternoon and I receive a phonecall from Accountancy Additions with details of a position that is opening up in Chelmsford. The women is just asking me whether she should put my CV. I guess so. The opportunity sounds mixed, it will either be fantastic or terrible but at this stage I am so blase and jaded about a new job I don't care anyways.

In the evening is this weeks league match in five-a-side and it is against the steamroller Acme Grain, a game for which none of us really seem/appear to have any enthusiasm for because it will pretty much guarantee a stuffing. However things pick up slightly when we learn that Dick's son James won't be playing as he is now at Sheffield university. This is a real left off because I really feel he is their best player. The game kicks off in more ways than one. Tonight is my 25th game of the year (I have most appearances of anyone on our team) and our team really holds out. Tonight we are: me, Kev, Jack, Jeremy, Iran and the returning Stevo. Acme Grain don't look their strongest but they still have the guy that looks like Wayne Rooney, now christened Grain Rooney (© Mark Boyle). We actually have a fantastic first half, we never lead but we do have our heads above water and at half time we go in drawing 4-4, a performance above and beyond. Tonight Acme have come up with another two youngsters, one of which wears an Arsenal shirt with the name "Fireball" on the back, which obviously makes him a cunt. The two new lads do actually give us the run around and the second half does get nasty, especially as someone on Acme really rattles Iran's cage and he begins sounding/kicking off, even to the point that Jack is heard to be telling him to calm down. And all this is lapped up by Dick, who holds things solid and later claims that this is the turning point of the match/game. Whatever, some kind of falling apart occurs in the second half and we wind up losing 14-4, failing to even score a goal in the second half. After the game, back in the changing room, Iran and Jeremy storm/stomp off almost immediately as Dick boasts how they played right into his hands and the Acme goalie (The Crab) claims the final score to actually be 17-4. Whatever. I say "bye" and leave with my head down.

Before heading home, I pop into Asda to get some dinner. Like a fatty I buy some of those Chicago Town Pizza Wraps, very healthy. It does however get embarrassing as I stand at the checkout and the till complains of a smell like damp socks. I suspect immediately that this is my doing/pong. I apologise red faced and go/get home as soon as humanly possibly.

Tonight I actually manage to get into the bath I run and get ready for my day ahead tomorrow in Mildenhall.

Arrested Development is on TV again tonight and this week the episode is even better than last, David Cross gets funnier and Portia Di Rossi better looking by the week although Jason Bateman is just not convincing as a middle-aged man.

I visit the Matador Records website and then go to sleep.

np: Helium - Pat-s Trick

2004-10-28T20:29:00.000Z

October 5 (Tuesday): Itâ€™s Perfectly Understandishable. Dream: Iâ€™m knocking about, guesting with a firm at Millwall in the same way that I do with Stevo at AFC Wimbledon. The head of the firm is the guy from the Chelsea firm in Football Factory and he tells me to get lost, that I donâ€™t fit in. The rest of the firm disappears but I am not budging, instead I am still making efforts/attempts to impress and fit in. In the end I find myself cross referencing an audit file!

This morning, I am out on the road, heading to a place somewhere around Suffolk/Cambridgeshire called Kennett/Kentford and a client called Acme Harness. I try, I genuinely attempt, to leave my flat at 8 AM but itâ€™s a tad beyond reality after waking up at 7 AM feeling sluggish (as you do). Eventually I leave at 8.15 and hit the nightmare roads of the A12 and the A14 listening to my BPP ACCA student tapes/cassettes. As I put some files into the boot of the bubble car, I find a set of golf clubs in the boot, surely no one will/would notice if I just take/borrow one of them.

I arrive at the client at around 9.45, finding it first time after passing Bury St Edmunds and its famous sugar plant which smells sickly sweet in the sickest way. I drive the company bubble car for the first time in weeks and every time I ride/drive this car, I resent itâ€™s existence more by the moment. Today, my efforts towards destroying the car (itâ€™s a leaser) is to see if I can make it go 100mph. And it just about does.

Once again, I arrive at the client at 9.45, parking up in the wrong section of the industrial estate car park, macking the most amazing looking secretary in big pink jumper, making the perfect packaging, wrapped around the best pair of breasts going to man that I just want to reach and grab. Sadly however, this is not the client I am working at today. When I eventually find the office I am supposed to be in (whoops), the guy/manager/director I am working for today looks like Mike Ditka, is very gruff and has ageing tattoos all up his arms. I do all right introducing however, Who is there to hold my hand initially and itâ€™s a breeze and I soon tear into my work.

I work all day non-stop, feeling welcome at this client and being regularly refilled with great cups of coffee. This is a fantastic company/firm, a real mom and pop success story employing local hicks and making a real difference to its community. The employees are real good people types, all of which seem to know Alan, who I am covering for today, and asking him how his baby is getting on, not knowing that the poor bubs is in Great Ormond Street fighting for its life. I briefly explain to people the situation, cutting short not wishing to be a downer and not really knowing all the details myself. I do find myself at moments in the morning thinking about the whole situation of Alanâ€™s baby falling ill shortly after birth and I find myself feeling genuinely upset for him.

Mid afternoon I get a phonecall from Stevo and he is pretty much begging me to play in goal tomorrow night as they cannot find anyone else to play. For some reason, Who changed the plans today and told me that he had arranged for us to go over to Acme Maintenance Thursday whereas I originally thought I would be over there tomorrow, seems he thought today would be a two day job, so Iâ€™ll be back in the office tomorrow anyway. The good vibe of the company is conducive to producing good work and I have a great day, getting more work produced than I could have hoped for. I leave with everybody happy, not least me for feeling really pleased with myself and having really enjoyed the/a work atmosphere for the first time in weeks, maybe months.

I am finished by five and I tear down the A14 and get home just after six. As per every other Tuesday, tonight I tear home back to my parents to watch The Sopranos etc. Upon arrival, theyâ€™re all right.

Tonight Dad points me towards the photo they took of me on my birthday holding Snowy and they both (mum and dad) tell me what a good/nice photo of me it is. I look at it and I just look really terrible/awful in it. Also it seems Dadâ€™s niece is trying to arrange some kind of meal between us lot. Its currently a strange situation with the family, mumâ€™s side seems to be messing them about causing a real rift while dadâ€™s side of the family appears to be trying to regroup or something. Pros and cons, pros and cons.

When I drive home, late at night, I notice a drunkard staggering home, walking up Layer Road and I consider how cool would it be if I got out of my car and hit him with a golf club and took his money. Heâ€™d never know what happened, what had hit him. Alas however, the golf clubs are in the other car.

Once back in the warmth and safety of my flat, I discover that my downloading of an old episode of the â€œlostâ€? Meet Ricky Gervais has happened. I suspect her will want to keep this TV show buried but there are some really funny moments on it.

I go to sleep.

np: Monkeywrench - Call My Body Home

2004-10-28T20:28:00.000Z

October 4 (Monday): The Story Of Everest. Ouch ouch, the headache that I had last night appears to have become a tumour as I awaken with one of those specialised behind my right eye migraines that always feels as if my eye/head is bleeding. And I must be ill if I donâ€™t bother with speaking to Sara on MSN.

I walk into work in the pissing rain and it is thoroughly miserable, this is a stereotypical Monday morning straight out of the depression text book.

At work this morning there is something of a real vibe and this is not helped by the bad news that Alanâ€™s little baby is really ill in hospital.

When I go over the road, I go into the cellar to collect some clientâ€™s files and I find myself able to clearing overhear (eavesdrop) the weekly Monday morning partners meeting. I hear my name get mentioned and wonder what it is in conjunction with. Paranoid as ever, I wonder if this is finally the turning block and they are deciding to give me a long deserved dressing down for my poor performance. I hold fire however I hear Acme Maintenance discussed and suddenly the conversation sounds more constructive in my direction and regard by the partners. The meeting can no longer be as clearly heard as initially but it sounds like I will be called in/asked to cover for Alan for a bit.

I return back over the road, slightly arrogant about the fact I was able eavesdropping on the partnerâ€™s meeting and that I know what is planned of me almost before they do. And as per my announcement, shortly after the meeting ends I am called into the board room by Who to speak/talk to him. I go over and he asks me to take over one of Alanâ€™s jobs (C&T) and that we need to get to Acme Maintenance and get them sorted out (their VAT quarter has ended and is due at the end of the month). Doing so equates to me being up the Suffolk/Cambridgeshire border four days this week, so it gets suggested that I stay up there at a Holiday Inn (or something). Immediately I am filled with dread but then I come around to the idea, less feeling like Alan Partridge, more feeling like Willy Loman, a tired, lonely staying out on the road in rooms by himself (ha ha). I agree to it all (although I do have football Wednesday and English Thursday).

I go back to my perch in Chernobyl and figure if I take the company laptop Iâ€™ll be able to do some work (writing) and watch DVDs to keep myself amused.

Today Louise is having a lunch meeting (pre-interview) with someone from Scrutton Bland about returning to the company for a new job. Apparently it turns out that many people have been leaving there of late. If it goes well for her, I might consider her putting a word in for me.

At lunchtime Ivan, Stevo and myself go for lunch at Nandos. I am really bored of/by the food in this place by now but itâ€™s a good lunch all the same, Iâ€™m on form and really hungry. And there are some really honeys here, not least the two oriental girls and the young blonde business girl in whore boots. When weâ€™re done here, I quickly pop/fly to HMV to get American Splendor on DVD in the sale. Job done. And once more, I see tourettes man.

When I get back to the office, Louise is still out on her lunch in Zizziâ€™s (flash/swank). When she finally returns I ask her how it goes/went and she really was not impressed, the job sounded crap and the pay really crap. All turns out, maybe GloboChem isn't that bad after all (oh dear, trainee accountants are in trouble).

In the afternoon, Stevo turns on me and suddenly tells me that he is going to need/require the laptop for a job tomorrow. Suddenly, out of the blue, he needs it back. What a coincidence. So this effects and scuppers all my plans as he acts like a real dick about things but technically he has seniority on me and I canâ€™t do a thing about it. Without this, there seems no point in staying over now if I will have nothing useful to do in the evenings, I really cannot afford to waste my evenings away. Still, he acts like a real dick over the whole situation, getting semi aggressive, and when I leave and he is having problems with his computer (it crashes and there is a loss of work), I get a slight perverse enjoyment out of it.

I take the bubble car Micra home and put petrol in it and my Focus, Â£10 and Â£20 respectively. Guess which receipt Iâ€™ll claim back? When I return I find that Stevo has tried to call me on my mobile. I phone him back with â€œwhat do you wantâ€? half hoping he has come around on the laptop front. No dice, it doesnâ€™t even get mentioned, instead the clot has got lost in Chelmsford doing errands for Who. I suspect he is doing his thing of calling me to make sure that we are â€œall rightâ€?.

The rest of the evening is spent doing this and that, having a bath and taking in Monday night TV in preparation for a client I have never met before tomorrow.

np: Joe Maneri - Paniots Nine

2004-10-28T20:26:00.000Z

October 3 (Sunday): Rudy Will Await Your Foundation. Sundays suck. Thatâ€™s my opinion and thatâ€™s fact. As per usual, I MSN with Sara for a bit but this morning it all feels like pulling teeth, sometimes itâ€™s just no fun. I head out and get my Sunday paper but soon return to my flat for safety and warmth, I have plenty things to do today and really donâ€™t look like to get any of them done.

First things first though, in a lack of correct order of priority, I do finally install my broadband AOL. In order to do this, I have to free up so much space it is sickening. I really donâ€™t know why my PC is so full to the hilt but all the same it is. And it is really off-putting to think that installing broadband entails putting in a new modem. It turns out to be a real bonus when the modem turns out to be external and just slips in a USB or something. After only a couple false starts, I finally get it in, up and running. I also have to install AOL 9 meaning a leap from AOL 6 for me, so this really is a crappy brave new world. Hats off to AOL, it does turn out to be really user friendly and easy to install but the speed just isnâ€™t all that impressive initially. I slap on Soulseek and wait for my song queue to disappear before my eyes. It doesnâ€™t happen, if anything it now appears to take longer to download stuff. Internet through AOL does immediately appear much quicker, so I hit the porn for a bit at which point Sara comes back online asking â€œwhere did you go?â€� and we talk a little bit more.

Today Millwall have another Sunday game and are at home to Nottingham Forest, a real hard game even if not on paper/league positions. The team/line-up appears almost decimated from Thursdayâ€™s European game, Wise really rests most of the team and puts out a number of â€œreservesâ€�. No fear though, in the end they get a really good 1-0 win.

Bored and with nothing to do, in late afternoon I find myself putting on the DVD of American Werewolf In London that I bought the other just because it is cheap. Big mistake, the movie that once scared me most in the world, now just comes over as thoroughly cheap and tacky. Upon first attempt at watching it, I just fall asleep, missing all the dream goodies and horrific images that are kinda cool. I awaken and reattempt to watch it again and once more utterly/thoroughly fail to do so again, once more falling asleep. I do however manage to wake up in time to witness old/young Jenny Agutter drag the wolf back to her plush London flat to fuck him, mere days after just meeting him. What a load of old bollocks this film is to me now, as I said old and tacky. It does however introduce me to a really fantastic Van Morrison song, that guy is growing on me in spades.

After seeing Ricky Gervais acquit himself so fantastically on TV last night around Markâ€™s, this afternoon I find myself on his XFM website checking out his old radio shows after going through all the radio MP3s I have listened to. His is SO fucking funny, he just laughs his arse off as the other two guys on the show (Stephen Merchant and Karl Pilkington) just verbally hang themselves, probably actually being more funny in the process but Gervais never once relinquishes the show himself. He is todayâ€™s hero for me.

As the Sunday afternoon becomes evening and it begins to get dark, I attempt to call Mark and get in touch about going to the quiz tonight. No dice, no reply on either his cellphone or home number, which I guess means he is out with his parents on his last full day/night in England before heading to Tokyo to his job. I give up on going to the quiz tonight; American Werewolf just gave me a headache, making me feel dirty in the process for wasting my time watching such aged drivel.

I stick with the Ricky Gervais audio files, have a bath and then watch some show on BBC about the World Cup 1990 semi final where England lost on penalties to Germany. It actually turns about to be a really good show after me and Mark could have been found taking the piss out of the show around his house last night.

With that programme out of the way, I settle down to watching Little Nicky on Channel Four. This film should really be the dream ticket, with Harvey Keitel, Rodney Dangerfield and Zeus The Human Wrecking Machine and all, but itâ€™s only just OK. I remember vividly, horribly now, renting this movie in the summer of 2001 from Blockbuster and watching it at Bellaâ€™s just after we had a real big argument in Ipswich Ask restaurant. So, the movie now comes to me tainted and with baggage.

Around this point, my phone rings and it is Mark. Itâ€™s just past nine and heâ€™s about to head to the Hogshead and wondering if I am still going. Iâ€™m actually about to head to bed, so not really now. I get the old line â€œwould have been nice to see you before I leaveâ€� and I immediately feel shitty about not going. I wish him much luck though with the new job, still absolutely gutted that heâ€™s going, saying all the right things to gee him up and to wish him the best.

Once done, I proceed to fall asleep watching Little Nicky, which this time I really enjoy watching.

np: Van Morrison â€“ Moon Dance

2004-10-27T22:18:00.000Z

October 2 (Saturday): Show Me Your Weenis! Wow, today is a fantastic day, the weather is fantastic! My day begins early with me comfortably wrapped up in bed watching my new Mr Show DVD. This show is fantastic, thoroughly hit and miss but when itâ€™s hit, it is some of the funniest stuff I have ever seen in my life. I would quote you some stuff but it is also very very disposable.

After five episodes, I eventually make it into town on a newspaper. Today is beautiful day and it is a blazing Saturday morning which just makes Colchester look glorious. Town is so so busy but you sense this is almost the calm before the Christmas storm. I feel like hanging out in this environment, I feel empathy for people in this atmosphere and good about the people around me. I wander around the streets with the hope of accidentally on purpose bumping into somebody I know and getting them to go for a drink and/or hang out. The people I accidentally bump into this morning are: Asian Sara (from Wellington House), Jeremy from football and tourettes guy from yesterday lunchtime, somewhat calmer this morning. No dice for a hangout though, in the first case, Asian Sara wonâ€™t give me the time of day since I accused her â€œsisterâ€� of being in the Taliban (shame really, she is just SO fit!). Second case, Jeremy appears to be with his girlfriend and I wouldnâ€™t fancy hanging anyway. Third person, Iâ€™m just glad the guy isnâ€™t in a tourettes storm entering my path.

When I return home, I return to more Mr Show episodes, my favourite this time being a high school kid being made the next Dalai Lama. As much as I dig the shows though, I have to admit, I do fall asleep again.

When I wake up, I find that Mark has tried to phone. I leave, figuring he had too much of a good thing yesterday (ha ha), so instead I (hungry) opt for eating a cold tin of beans out of the can whilst watching the remaining Mr Show episodes. Fortunately for me, Mark phones again and rescues me from my funk and calls me out.

I turn up at Markâ€™s around 2pm and we head into town, for the hangout I had been wishing for early (there is a god and he makes things like this, well timed occurrences, happen when you need them most). In town Mark has to get ready/prepared for Tokyo on Monday and he has a few last gifts to get for people, left right and centre. Late Saturday afternoons in Colchester town are even better than gorgeous sunny Saturday mornings. And I actually manage to do it without spending any money! Once Mark gets all his prep out of the way, we head to Costa for a coffee but up arrival go â€œnahâ€� and like old women head to the Debenhams cafÃ©. Queuing there with us is the most amazing looking pregnant blonde lady with an old man, either her sugar daddy or just sugary dad. Either way, hope Iâ€™m the father of her next kid. We sit by a window looking over Culver Square and from this height the town looks even better, from our view the people look like ants, not because of their size, theyâ€™re just freakishly ugly. Eventually we chip but not before I try searching for coats again. Finally I find one that resembles what I want, resembling the one Billy in Football Factory wears. I try it on and Mark completely rips it to shreds (not literally/physically but he may well of/have). Whilst also in Debenhams I see a woman that looks exactly like Sombat Bigley, Ken Bigleyâ€™s Thai wife. Accidentally I find myself gawping at her and she thoroughly gawps back, like the trooper that she is.

We get back to Markâ€™s and its an empty house, his brother has just moved to London and his parents are away in Italy/Spain (?) until tomorrow and donâ€™t even know about his new job yet. We listen to Radio 2 and talk bollocks, somehow heavily on the subject of religion for reasons I forget. Oh yeah, Azmei texted me out of the blue and naturally it all goes onto the subject of Muslims. Azmei tells me how her ex-husband has been in touch and is trying to make nice nice. I just tell her that a leopard doesnâ€™t change itâ€™s spots. Radio 2 meanwhile plays all this weird sixties music, some of which Mark recognises as Love. I sense that Mark is mucho busy and has stuff on and I figure I really ought to leave him to it but he tells me I might as well hang, he isnâ€™t doing any of it (it being leaning Excel, reading over the treatment for his Dadâ€™s book or any else of another twelve options). Instead, instead we buy fish and chips for dinner (Markâ€™s treat).

We go to a fish and chip shop on Mersea Road that Mark has been raving about. We do the basics but to me the basics always seemed to cost more than being â€œexoticâ€� in a fish and chip shop. While I wait in the car, Mark does the deal as he takes in the â€œambienceâ€� and digs the guy that runs the shop as being a real gent. This is a shit part of town, I even feel intimidated just sitting in my car in the dark down to it just being dog rough. Apparently while Mark is/was in the shop itself, some homeless person came in and starting talking to the owner as a â€œfather figureâ€�. At the end of the exchange, when the person leaves Mark says the person who was plainly male turns out to be actually female, in other words real fucked up.

We eat dinner and I still feel as if I am imposing, causing an obstacle to Mark getting on with his evening, remaining days in Colchester. Eventually however we do our usual thing of playing Pro Evolution 3 on the Playstation. Tonight is hard going, far from my days earlier this year winning the Quidney Cup with the handicap of being stoned, tonight I suck. I do manage to win the first game, England 1 Ireland 0 with Mark down to nine men but eventually he winds up beating me in every match. In the end he gets tired beating me in every game and turns off the Playstation in an almost disappointed fashion.

For some reason we decide to really endure Saturday night TV and to be honest it doesnâ€™t turn out to be too bad (with the aid of cable). After initial laps of watching the â€œgroomerâ€� channels (the pop music channels featuring scantily clad teens for your enjoyment), after a heavy dose of Celebrity Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, we wind up watching the Bush v Kerry debate from Thursday. Its actually fairly entertaining but also very frightening how Mark gets almost every political reference made by the two and I get very few/little of them. Ignorant thicko. I do blag my way into making intelligent/sensible points though, not least for commenting on George Dubyaâ€™s body language and the frightening way he got the blinks (his eyes) during his closing address to camera.

Beyond such a heavy, we find ourselves skipping over to Sky One where they are into their first town on Britainâ€™s Toughest Seasides. Now this is more on my level. It all opens with Blackpool and stag/hen nights that it is apparently famous for having. It is real car crash TV, these people look fucking horrible and act stupid as hell, never before has acting sober and reserved ever been so appealing. We joke about hoping Clacton gets included in/on the show and after some hovel in Scotland and another in Tyneside (complete with seaside wrestling!), just before the ads we get a glimpse of an Essex town and I just know it is going to be Jaywick. When Jaywick comes on and has its moment, we both early watch in the hope of recognise people faces and places. It all reminds me of the time that Loaded did an article on the town. The piece is fucking horrible and people smell of desperation, the people who seem barely able to spew out a coherent sentence are given the most air time. The show does mixed justice for Jaywick, it makes it appear more lively/interesting than it actually is, giving it more credit than it deserves but also at the same time portrays the people living there as fucking idiots. Mark and I both lap it up, laughing in mock celebration but when the piece focuses on the local â€œhotâ€� musician boasting about his talent/abilities and cutting to his performance in a local pub suddenly I become melancholic on the realisation that I know a lot of people from my hometown for whom this would actually be entertainment, horrible fag smoking people with crap jobs and no education dragging their little fucker spawn along because they are too young to go out burgling houses with their elder siblings. I have to admit to spending some Saturday nights of my youth at such social events as the one on this show and suddenly it hits me hard that I am mocking something that I really shouldnâ€™t be, shouldnâ€™t be dismissing as just quaint and knocking the people on the show, people the producers at Sky are already burying in the ground with the show by itâ€™s mere existence of mockery.

Still, we watch the whole disaster of a tabloid TV show, starting out as viewings looking for a lark and winding up as complete voyeurs by the ending. Our only saviour is Ricky Gervais appearing on Parkinson. Ricky Gervais is such a hero and even though tonight he is really held back, he still manages to knock out enough funnies to stuff that bore Parkinson into the pine box from where he came from, fucking wooden stiff. Beyond, we attempt to watch the all new Match Of The Day once more but again, it is just so fucking boring now. It is notable however for Tottenham v Everton and our boy Tim Cahill looking a proper star before Jamie Redknap chooses to nobble him. Nevermind.

With nerves weaker than Gary Linker, Alan Hansen and Mark Lawrenson combined, I leave Mark to it, still reeling from guilt at my mockery of Jaywick/Clacton and I head home in the hope of better TV on my set before turning in to go to bed. No dice.

np: Helmet â€“ Wilmaâ€™s Rainbow

2004-10-27T22:15:00.000Z

October 1 (Friday): Life Is Precious and God and the Bible. This morning I emerge from a dream about my impending hospital date/operation, which turns out to be rather horrific and myself quite reluctant to undergo such a procedure. I awaken disorientated, with a minor headache unable to fathom what day this morning is.

Once with the program, I enter the day with the attitude: new month, good mood. Of course though, working were I do, it doesnâ€™t last long.

Today at work, Stevo is getting on my tits, making me paranoid to the hills. He emerges from over the road, having overheard a comment by two of the partners that someone is â€œnot recoveringâ€�. Such a comment could/would/does certainly describe me but that is due to forces beyond my control (a 60 year old gentleman called Cris). Todayâ€™s tune is Take Me Down To Paranoid City and it sees Stevo pulling out the timesheets/timeslips and trying to make head nor tail of the wacky budget system the firm uses, the incredibly flawed system I canâ€™t be arsed to deal with landing me with a very bad looking set of figures on the budget. We have been told this does not directly effect review/report of performance but those who thrive on the budget surely must benefit somehow, in areas that those who donâ€™t thrive (me) will not benefit (mainly Iâ€™m thinking financially here). Anyways, Stevo proceeds to spend the day analysing his own personal time sheet against the time slip, fishing for any missing time I might be able to muster. However, he is very vocal in this process and only serves to wind myself (and probably everyone else) up with his declarations how you have to â€œplayâ€� the system and manipulate. Yeah, he really does that (said sarcastically). I hate it when he gets all authorative, it just sounds really wrong and fairly delusional in making sweeping statements that are meant to sound good when really there is absolutely no substance behind/to them.

At lunchtime I meet up with Mark and we go eat outside at the Hogshead. It is an incredibly sombre lunch, Jesus I am about to lose my best friend for at minimal six months and at maximum this marks his inevitable departure out of Colchester, something that doesnâ€™t appear to appeal or spur me on in the slightest. I was always half hoping that I/we might be able to take up careers in the City together but for various reasons this has not panned out on either part (although Mark certainly could have got a job in London if he had wanted to). Actually, lunch is a real downer, we both seem lost for words, Iâ€™m morose at his departure and Mark is churning up inside with nerves over his new position, as any sane/normal person would do. There is some relief when a maniac with tourettes (or at least VERY angry and exercising his right to shout). We pretty much let off a combined relief with the acknowledge â€œhey, at least weâ€™re not in that guyâ€™s boatâ€�.

Lunch ends and I return to the office and the afternoon goes pretty much as per the morning with Stevo harping on about the budget vs timesheets. And he harps on to the point that Andy produces the budget for distribution to staff. When they come out, mine still looks absolutely horrible, still six grand the wrong way. My recent performance has just seen me keep my head above water it seems, on paper I am worse than Sandip and Louise, which is not necessarily the truth, especially in the first instance/example. Still, it doesnâ€™t stop him from making a smart comment, which I overhear while sitting on my throne in the shitter. I feel the flaw in the system gets really illustrated when Emmaâ€™s two months on the budget show her to already be five grand the wrong way, almost as bad as me! I use the Brain from Teachers line on her: â€œIâ€™m going to miss you, you make us look goodâ€�.

In the afternoon, pretty demoralised and disheartened by the findings of the budget results (not least Stevo the dildo who actually was the one who brought about its production), no one really does anything. Even Ivan comes over to hang out for a bit. All in all though, I do really really manage to piss off Stevo, this afternoon turns out to be one of those days/occasions where/when I wilfully go too far.

At five oâ€™clock we all run not walk out of the door. I blag a bubble mobile because I am headed to Pipeline in Mildenhall on Monday, so I get a lift/drive/ride home. When I get back to Bohemian Grove, there is a post slip waiting on the floor for me and a package awaiting me at East Hill post office. Immediately I grab the keys to my car and fly to the post office to pick up what I believe to be my DVD of Mr Show season four from Amazon. And that is exactly what it turns out to be and my Friday night entertainment gets sorted.

From there I head to Asda to pick up something for dinner (something basic) and in the process I only manage to get stuck in the car park for nearly thirty minutes again. Once more this is really bad timing/planning as I have turned up there at rush hour on a Friday evening, a sure time/point when commuters will be returning for the weekend. With mission unaccomplished there, I head straight to Sainsburys where I do my thing and get some sickly sweet cereal as my eveningâ€™s meal. As I go to leave the car park and pull out of my space, another car is coming along. I casually stop upon seeing him but the guy freaks and stops staring at me for about ten seconds. In my current mood, I just feel like â€œfucking come on thenâ€�, especially still being in my suit and feeling like a superstar (well, not quite). My god though I am aggressive these days, whatâ€™s happening to me.

When I get in I MSN with dad for some and then likewise with B, a gimmick that is already getting old. The rest ploughs on and I watch some Friday night TV before finally tearing into the Mr Show DVD box. Mr Show rocks but I still fall asleep watching it.

np: JoJo - Leave

2004-10-27T22:13:00.000Z

September 30 (Thursday): Today, get up, get in, grumpy. Today, youâ€™d better stay out of my way. I see Sara up online but donâ€™t bother getting in touch; people are only a pain in the arse.

I waddle into work rather downbeat, I donâ€™t want to be here, I donâ€™t want to be around these people (fortunately Stevo isnâ€™t in).

I finish off my English homework and it begins to come together and I begin to feel a fair bit better.

At lunchtime, I go around town and do it on the cheap. When I get back to the office, I get bored in the afternoon and call up Mark and apologise for last nightâ€™s blow out and get the story on his job interview (which he probably really wanted to talk about last night, hyped). Over the phone, he basically talks himself out of the job/position to me; hanging more to a dream job (ie fun but poor pay) at a newspaper he has an interview for/at next week.

When I get in from work I receive a text from Mark: â€œiâ€™ve just got a three month internship with a brit company in tokyo. Leave monday. Hell fire-came out of the blue a bit. Still couldnâ€™t turn it down. Talk soonâ€�.

Tonight, after much procrastination, I have decided to go to my English class instead of watching Millwallâ€™s second leg in Hungary against Ferencvaros. The game (the second leg) for some weird reason is not on Bravo (as with the first), instead it is an Â£8 job on Setanta Sports Channel, a channel I refuse to watch or endorse. So there you go, what a crappy fan I make. As we settle down for this weekâ€™s class, Stevo texts me to tell that â€œthe BBC are reporting that itâ€™s kicking off in Budapest alreadyâ€�. Tonight, the Ipswich fan actually speaks to me and asks me if Millwall are going to win (â€œnahâ€�). The lesson this evening is hard work, once again I am shattered from work. I sit next to a pretty young girl who once more says nothing to me and sit opposite some young mother who sometimes I catch staring this way. The class carries on and teacher says she could describe Arsene Wenger as â€œdebonairâ€� but looks at me and goes â€œyou could hardly describe Dennis Wise as debonair, the man is a thugâ€�. I stare at her and calmly go â€œthe manâ€™s a princeâ€�. At break time, we do the rounds to downstairs where all the handicaps are in the cafÃ© section with us and I check my phone/GPRS and it turns out that Millwall are losing 2-0. Fucking hell. By the time, the remainder of the lesson is quits, I put on Radio Five Live and Millwall is the main game on air and now they are losing 3-1 and were even 3-0 down at one point. Hungry and depressed, I pop into the chip shop at the top of Barrack Street and listen to the last twenty minutes of Millwallâ€™s UEFA Cup history as the month of October dawns ever closer. The game ends at 3-1 and Millwallâ€™s dreams of rioting in Feyenoord are over but there is still the hope of one last clean out in Hungary before coming home.

I got to bed in resignation.

np: Estelle - Free

2004-10-27T22:10:00.000Z

September 29 (Wednesday): Morning. Within the space of an hour, a dull day turns into a beautiful autumn morning, complete with fine bright sunshine and comforting chill.

At work, it is a weird morning, with me and Stevo throwing our usual shit at each other (banter) but today we just push too far and wind the other (especially me) up. Louise is in a mood too (El Moodo). It seems that everything is pissing her off at the moment.

At lunchtime, I wander around town on my own and it is actually much preferable to hauling Stevoâ€™s corpse around (as is every other day it seems). At the end of a good lunch break, I walk back towards work and see a couple of Birket long people, the guy that looks like Jake Gyllenhal and Natasha Austin who I used to go to school with. I say â€œhiâ€� but donâ€™t stop when I get the impression that Natasha really wanted to stop for a chat. Whoops. Problem, I really donâ€™t feel up to small talk today.

In the afternoon, itâ€™s a real bore and the highlight turns out to be me and Stevo pretending to be WWF wrestlers, hitting each other with pretend folding chairs and Stevo coming to the conclusion that if I were a WWF wrestler Iâ€™d be called â€œThe Pisstakerâ€� because I am just so fucking lazy. Wanker.

When I get in from work, thumbs up, I have received my Capital One credit card through, to be used for transferring my Virgin credit card balance. I pick up my card and the wankers have only given me Â£200 credit! Jesus Christ, that will go nowhere; you spend that much on a good night! What is the point of handing out such a low level? I was expecting a limit of Â£4,000. Tossers.

This evening we play football and itâ€™s far from a success. Stevo laughs it off; claiming his shoulder still hurts when really heâ€™s going to an AFC Wimbledon match. Likewise, after last weekâ€™s mauling, Ben has laughed it off to go to Col U v Southend tonight. For tonightâ€™s game, Ivan has dragged in some â€œuseless thug that will kick outâ€� called Lloyd, so it winds up just barely being five on our team (including Kevin and Jeremy, who is pretty much a regular these days who blows hot and cold). Lloyd does turn out to be as described but also at the same, very entertaining to watch. At half time we go in trailing 3-6, which sucks because until a quick spell just before half time, the game had been a lot closer even though Ivan is our only real runner again this week. In the second half, things pretty much continue as per the first half and this week again Jev is acting like a wanker. This weekâ€™s match isnâ€™t really pleasure, it is a chore and when it ends at 12-7 to Birkets, weâ€™ve all had enough.

When I get in, I am fucking knackered. And tonight I have my first English essay to write. I attempt it but it is really hard, the ideas arenâ€™t coming. After football, I stink and I really need a bath, which I actually manage to get into/have.

I continue labouring with my homework as B hits me on MSN but I really canâ€™t be bothered with her. I canâ€™t be bothered with anything.

I wind up laying naked on my bed, listening to random MP3s, waiting for a new show called Arrested Development to begin. Around 9.30, out of the blue, Mark phones me up asking if I want to go out for dinner or something. He has only just gotten back from a job interview in Kettering and is starving. Iâ€™ve had Corn Flakes for dinner, I am broke and he is suggested we go for a pizza or something. Were it not so spur of the moment, were I not lying naked on my bed, were Col U not busy dealing with Southend messing up Layer Road traffic, were I not waiting for Arrested Development to begin on TV, I would have happily gone along. Even after I decline, I immediately get hunger pains and decide I made the wrong decision not to get something to eat. Iâ€™m just not flexible or spur of the moment me.

However, Arrested Development turns out to be a fantastic show, just like Royal Tenenbaums as a TV show with a faultless, excellent cast! And I didnâ€™t even realise David Cross was in it. Top show!

And Col U lose to Southend. Again.

np: William Shatner â€“ I Canâ€™t Get With That

2004-10-27T19:25:00.000Z

wow!

2004-10-25T18:59:00.000Z

September 28 (Tuesday): Oh my, Sara is fucking arsey on MSN this morning. Leave it you cow. At least there is no talk about getting gangsters to beat me up this morning. Small blessings.

I actually take last nights MSN argument into work and print it off and show it around, Stevo especially eats/laps it up.

At work I am doing the best job I have touched in weeks, it is tidy and therefore easy, a real breeze and pleasure to be working on.

At lunchtime I wander around town on a budget. I bump into Chrisâ€™ mum in WH Smith who keeps me updated on Chris in Catford, his latest London uni adventure. She catches me as I am wandering around the shop with Stevo looking for books on dogs. Stevo suddenly wants to buy a dog, which personally I think would be a good move because I genuinely believe dog owners make leaders of men, not least because you learn how to handle/use authority whilst being loved back. Stevo goes the whole hog and properly buys a dog owners book (this is all currently brought on of course by Emma just purchasing a puppy).

The afternoon is a real breeze and beyond work, in the evening I head home to my olds to watch The Sopranos on E4.

When I arrive home, already up is a For Sale sign out front of the house, the lucky estate agents being Castles. The things mum gets our family into.

I get in and Dad is having trouble with his feet, which appears to be his latest health scare but bad feet are often linked to diabetes, which he has in spades so it could be serious. Heâ€™s seeing the doctor about it anyways. As per fucking par for the course of the moment, Sextons are giving him shit, refusing to pay him a redundancy packet for making him redundant it seems. Itâ€™s a fucked up situation.

I find myself sloping off into the front room to kind of get away from it all and I wind up watching Behind The Music on Vh-1 about Guns Nâ€™ Roses. It is a really fantastic show/documentary; they were actually a really good band it has to be admitted.

My enjoyment however is cut short when dad comes in wanting me to put Man Utd in the Champions League on the TV, not least as it is Wayne Rooneyâ€™s debut for Man Utd tonight. I watch some of the match and see Rooney score his first two goals for Man Utd (and later completely his hat-trick during their rout).

For the second I go on their computer and talk to Sara on MSN, asking her â€œwhat the fuck was up last night?â€�. She complains some more about her motherâ€™s side of the family but tells me to basically â€œleave itâ€�. It seems she is working through the roof at work at the moment, being the busiest she has ever been in her life and apparently this is making her lose her patience it seems. Is that any excuse? We wind up having a little emo in our exchange but not much. Whilst online with Sara, I am also speaking with half arsed effort to/with Bella. That turns out to be just as excruciating and much more laboured.

While I am sat on the computer, dad sits on the sofa in the front room and when my phone beeps, he is actually sitting on it. The text turns out to be a text message from Phoebe (a rarity these days) and it is a picture of one of her paintings. The painting is actually mindblowingly good, I am really really impressed, and it is not just because I fancy her, she appears to be genuinely really really talented.

Ten oâ€™clock comes around and Dad pretty much watches The Sopranos with me this week. Unfortunately however it is one of the more â€œtransitionalâ€� (ie dull) episodes of season five and I really donâ€™t think I am able to sell it on him (it is the episode Marco Polo where Carmela has a birthday party for her father and nearly doesnâ€™t invite Tony).

When the excruciating episode is over, I head home in the darkness, listening to Mark Raddcliffe on Radio 2 as is now my new Tuesday night ritual. Tonight is extra special as he has Charlotte Hatherly in the studio with him and she sounds fantastic as has been usual recently. Good times.

When I get in, there is a Bill Murray on BBC1, The Man Who Wasnâ€™t There (or something). It is dross and sends me to sleep but still it is Bill Murray, so there can be no complaint.

np: Kelis - Millionaire

2004-10-25T18:57:00.000Z

September 27 (Monday): Palmice. This morning I wake up absolutely shattered and after my bouts with the toilet last night, I come so so close to calling in sick with food poisoning and having a day off. However I am way too honest for my own good and Iâ€™m a good guy and pull myself together for work but not before MSNing briefly with Sara.

I get into work and today there is no Stevo and no Emma, which all in all makes things for a very boring day at work. There is Sandip though.

At lunchtime, I knock around with Ivan, posting a panic credit card payment.

When I get home in the evening, I find myself once more both MSNing and Sara and Bella at the same time, the winner once more being Sara who actually appears to have a life.

Bored with things, I get out of the house and do a supermarket run of both Asda and Tesco Highwoods, where I buy Football Factory on DVD. Asda is fucking horrible at the moment, they are doing some un-needed renovation and the place is now chock full of black security guards, talking fuck knows what language making the whole experience of shopping in the building akin to visiting the Bronx or something, the heavy security is fucking ridiculous and horrible.

Things get fruity tonight when I return home and talk some more to Sara on MSN. We have noticed/acknowledged that Jason PM is a lot more nicer/friendlier than Jason AM but not it is time for Saraâ€™s revenge as Sara PM turns out to be a horrible fucking cow, as opposed to Sara AM. Stupidly it takes me a long long time to clock that she is messing about like this because she is probably pissed but we begin swapping snipes and making jibs at eachother which begin to get really really nasty and hostile. We try to outdo eachother, talking about people weâ€™ve fucked and why we wouldnâ€™t fuck eachother, seeming to be trying to make the other person jealous. She then begins comparing mine and her lives, picking holes in my stubborn sticking to Colchester and Essex while she has flitted off to Dubai and â€œmade itâ€�. She gets really arsey and arrogant and she informs me how she has so overtaken me career wise and how I am basically too scared to do anything. She really baits me but I tend not to bite/hook but I do find myself getting hurt by such jibes and her whole seeming, spitefulness of saying such things to me. However, things do not end at this point. I begin to suggest/subtly accuse her of being a silver spooner and then she really kicks off at this accusation, bringing up the subject of her mumâ€™s side of the family. It turns out that her mumâ€™s side of the family is â€œnutsâ€� and has various members in the clink, with links to gangsters in London including involvement with the Richardsons. Our MSN conversation becomes really surreal, it as if little Miss Haslett has turned into Sam Butcher from Eastenders right in front of my eyes. It is a really unbelievable exchange. It ends with her telling me how heavies were sent around to her ex-fiancÃ©eâ€™s house to rough him up and how she could have been beaten up at the drop of a hat. It freaks me out some because it is all so fucking stupid and I donâ€™t know what is going through Saraâ€™s mind in saying such nonsense to me.

Luckily she goes and I get to go to bed to fight another day.

np: Snoop Dogg â€“ Drop It Like Itâ€™s Hot

2004-10-25T18:56:00.000Z

September 26 (Sunday): Cestone. Today I wake up with writing and flat renovation in mind. This however gets interrupted but the usual MSN blah with Sara followed by The Championship on ITV. ITV may no longer have Premiership football but their show still begins with Itâ€™s A Beautiful Day and has the kind of go that BBC chokes on. And add that is showing â€œChampionshipâ€�, which is actually Second Division, football which means also Millwall!

Eventually I wander out and do the newspaper run. Today is a weird day, overcast and looking like rain but never quite submitting and it isnâ€™t in the least bit cold or chilly. Today I feel like lunching so I phone up Mark around midday to see what he is up to. Unfortunately he is busy, about to speak to his girlfriend, not really an event that should be usurped in favour for lunching with a friend (although I was going to offer for it to be my shout). I do however make arrangements to hook up in the afternoon and do something.

From there I head towards Tesco to do some food shopping, food shopping by me currently equating the most basic purchases in the most basic food groups in quantities that generally fail to last more than one day or two. I think today I purchase bottled water, milk, Corn Flakes, bread and peanut butter. Healthy Graham. As I pay for my food, I see a couple at the checkout next to me purchasing their groceries, a very bad tempered man flinging food stuffs onto the checkout around his four pack of blue and white stripe Tesco Value lager. No wonder he appears pissed off.

Upon return to my flat, my home, my prison, I eat loads of my freshly purchased food and I tear into tidying the flat. I only get so far before I get bored.

On a knackering, mind numbing Sunday afternoon I search for stimulation and decide that today should be the day that I finally watch Spirited Away, which by now I have very little interest into actually watching in the first place (it came with a recommendation by Phoebe, remember her?). Just before I settle down to watch the film, Mark phones and he is heading out in a car with Jeremy and co just to go visit Mersea andâ€¦â€¦it doesnâ€™t really sound like do much else. I guess I am not the only person in the world that gets thoroughly bored on Sunday afternoons. My gut reaction is to decline the invitation and I do so, although immediately after the rejection procrastination and question of making the right choice kick in, the main personal question being â€œwill I always be this anti-social?â€�. Plans however are plotted/made for the pub quiz, for a second Sunday running. Getting back in a groove.

Regardless, I settle down to watching Spirited Away, which really really is not my thing. Today I am a real lightweight and cannot possibly face any subtitles, so luckily there is the English language version which saves my bacon. The film for me comes with a top heavy Phoebe flavour, I can only imagine and consider what she was seeing in this moving and what she was taking from it in the process. I cannot help but see the main character as being representative of her, a young Oriental girl with a pure heart against the odds, combating and overcoming fears. I do have to admit, within fifteen minutes of starting the DVD I do/did fall asleep but when I awaken I do/did (I promise) restart the movie from (roughly) where I had got to. The film conjures up some lovely images and the main character is sweeter than sweet, innocent and pure, but I also the story to be ridiculous, making no sense whatsoever.

After the movie, I get back into writing and tidying but now unfortunately I found myself with a bit of a headache, which perhaps came from laying funny on my head when I fell asleep. As the evening comes around, 8pm neared and my headache continues to rage as much as ever and I pretty much decide to opt out of the pub quiz. Mark however phones me up and manages to talk me into turning out, headache and all.

This weekâ€™s quiz is fantastic, much more fun and successful than last week. Again the Emily is around, looking even more attractive than last time. Iâ€™m actually on form tonight, a very sociable me for a change, more charming and witting than a hard hitting stick. I make funnies which people actually find funny and actually manage to scrape a lengthy and interesting conversation with the Emily girl. It turns out that one of our team-mates from last week (this week missing) was/is a member of the Freemasons and this gives birth to much intrigue and excitement, if I could I would so be part of that thing. Then again, I am wholly imagining it to be just like the Stonecutters fellowship on the Simpsons. Quiz wise, this week we fair much better and actually get questions I know the answers to. The team I am â€œguestingâ€� is called The Victims and is a team of rabid frisbee players. When results come out/around, we have scored 28 out of 32 and the winning team only scored 29, so I guess that made us seconds. No prizes for second though. Shortly after the results, moves are made. We walk back to our respective cars, me making a pathetic, posing gesture that makes sure everybody sees which car is mine (ho ho). This also coming as I fish Jeremy in with conversation about locals, mainly the rough end Colchester gangsters and apparent local members of The Triad.

When I return home I feel fucked, my head feels like a tumour and I feel shattered. Then Phoebe Toronto hits me on MSN with tales of her weekend spent breaking into cars in Canada and being a usual nuisance of her teenage self (I later look on her blog to see great portions of our conversation published on the internet). Our talk sadly gets rudely interrupted when I get the shits, I suspect I may have eaten too much and/or food poisoned myself with dirty cutlery (maybe). It does however give me the opportunity to sit on the bog and finish off my Hulk Hogan autobiography. When I return to MSN, Phoebe Luk Canada is gone without goodbye.

The rest of my Sunday evening, sees bouts 2 and 3 with food poisoning while I watch a Making Of show for Layer Cake which actually makes it look pretty good but that is perhaps down to the fact that Tamer Hassan, the main Millwall fan from Football Factory has a part in the movie. I end the night feeling like the Alien is going to fly out of my stomach. Good night.

np: Sons & Daughters â€“ Johnny Cash

2004-10-23T09:49:00.000Z

Snowy sleeping (wasting) his Saturday afternoon away. Lazy fucker. Is he dead?

2004-10-23T09:47:00.000Z

September 25 (Saturday): Gismonte. Slow getting started this morning. Sara jumps on me early on MSN, straight from Dubai, on a weekend at work. I manage to actually do some writing, hoping to get my blog up to date but it doesnâ€™t happen.

Eventually I manage to get around to leaving home and heading for Clacton at around 12.30. I stop off at the Layer Road store to buy newspapers but the fuckers have run out of Suns so I have to pop to Asda to get one instead and this is my ultimate downfall. When did the car park in Asda on a Saturday become so fucking chock-a-block? I get my Sun and proceed to spend over half an hour stuck in traffic within the car park not moving a sausage.

My intentions, as sad as they are, were originally to get home for 2pm to catch the first of three episodes of Relic Hunter on Sky today. I fucking fail in all attempts, it eventually takes me almost two hours just to get from Colchester to Clacton (Holland-on-Sea). Loser.

When I get home, no one is in, my parents are to be found up in Colchester house hunting so its just me and the dog. Relic Hunter is well into its episode so I donâ€™t bother with it, instead I jump back on MSN and continue with Sara going â€œblah blah blahâ€� with a guest appearance by Bella who actually is nowhere near as interesting or exciting as Sara sadly. I tell Sara how I would like to move home after raiding my parents cupboards and fridge; â€œthey have food and Sky and the dog and warmth and its tidyâ€�. Sara however adds the sobering fact: â€œif you move back home, you will never pullâ€�.

Today Snowy is really dozey and he keeps sloping off, away from me back into his basket. He can no longer jump onto any of our furniture (ie no chairs nor sofas) so I give him a hand and pick him up and put him onto the sofa. Snowy hates being picked up/carried/lifted, so when I do so he next to flies at me when I drop him off. Still, he sticks on the sofa and sleeps the remainder of the afternoon away, not even murmuring when I rejoin him on the sofa to watch the second episode of Relic Hunter.

I get bored and begin reading my Hulk Hogan autobiography I bought on Wednesday and it turns out to sadly be the most interesting book that I have picked up in a long while. When my parents come in, I am actually enthralled in the book and really donâ€™t want to speak to them for wanting more Hulkamania, which only sees me grunting at them like Kevin Teenager when confronted with conversation. Well, did you know that Hulk Hogan almost became a regular on the A-Team to act as a go-between for Mr T and George Peppard who apparently hated eachother as Mr T earned more than the others combined but couldnâ€™t act for beans.

Today Millwall only manage a 1-1 draw at Rotherham after losing the lead late on. Ordinarily, letting in Rotherhamâ€™s first goal for 11 hours and only their third goal all season would generally be seen as a failure and/or bad result but Millwall have this recent memory thing about Rotherham for the 92/93 first day home drubbing of 6-0. So now these days, any result against Rotherham is a good result. Rotherham and Gillingham can be currently be regarded as bogey sides.

Mark texts me about hanging out but I tell him unfortunately I canâ€™t as I am at my parents but we should definitely hook up tomorrow.

I MSN again with Sara, fairly late into the night for a Saturday, she is still chocka with work in Dubai it seems and she is about to be heading to Australia on business for a month (lifestyles of the rich and their accountants I guess). Before she logs off we have some final thoughts-esqe discussion which all gets kind of emo when its based along the lines of â€œitâ€™s a surprise we have stayed friendsâ€� kind of stuff. You could be mistaken for thinking there is some really meaning in all this somewhere.

I eventually make moves for heading home, listening to a soundtrack of Radio 2 on a Saturday night (although Westwood on Saturday generally gives good head also). It is a really fantastic station playing fantastic movie, Stuart Macconie hosting some show playing rarities mixed with Nick Cave, Tom Waits and the Kinks. When I get in, I continue with Radio 2 who are broadcasting the most fantastic documentary about Jeff Buckley.

At 10pm, I ditch the radio (which I can hear on repeat/replay online anyway) and begin watching Pleasantville. I beginning to develop a real thing for Reese Witherspoon and it frightens me, especially when I find myself looking at girls these days and going â€œher X looks like Reese Witherspoonâ€�. Fortunately I fall asleep early during the movie and there ends another exciting Saturday night in the life of Jason Graham.

np: Jeff Buckley - Grace

2004-10-23T09:44:00.000Z

September 24 (National Dating Day Friday): Bevalaqua. Todayâ€™s awakening comes drenched in depression. I have a dream about my English class/course and Webb does feature in it but mainly it suggests to me concern over my apparent failure to mix in the group it seems. I hate feeling so low. B also features in my dream, I guess another representative of a group I do not fit in (ho ho).

After the bad start emotionally (for whatever reasons) I feel at least able to throw some of my bad fortune off the top of a tall building when Azmei gets in touch and offers to meet me at 12.30 for a â€œdrinkâ€�.

Yet again, I leave home late and arrive at work late, as one of my managers at Wood & Disney used to say â€œyou should never be late twice in one dayâ€�. Whoops. I arrive at work and can feel that I have made a really bad job of shaving. Fortunately people donâ€™t generally touch to see and I will probably manage to go all day without anyone noticing.

Today Stevo is not a work so it is likely to be a bit of a snorer and also a prime opportunity to get some work done. Early on Cris comes over tells me that we are going to have to go over to Pipeline again because nothing has been done to it since I work hard on it early summer and he just promptly ripped what I did to it to shreds and I lost complete interest in the job. When Cris asks me to go over there, he gives off a pained expression that I donâ€™t think I have ever seen on him before. I really donâ€™t want to get involved with this job again but I will, Iâ€™m a good guy and very capable of doing it.

Early morning, Andy from Hays phones me again and now we are negotiating properly with Rose Calendars. It seems they are a no no for coughing up any study fees, so its time to compromise. He asks me â€œwhat if they wonâ€™t give any study support?â€� and I him that I will have to â€œdeclineâ€�. I then tell him that the days theyâ€™re giving off to me for â€œstudyâ€� are actually holiday days surely. He leaves it at the point where he is now asking them for an extra thousand on my salary.

Today I get a long email from Phoebe, she sounds looser and happier than usual, happy to talk. I point out to her that she sounds happier than usual and she pretty much goes â€œwell Iâ€™m notâ€�. All right then grumper.

This morning I look on GPRS internet and discover that the Big Boss Man has just died. Oh no! People are dropping like flies.

I meet Azmei for lunch but its just for a drink, meaning I get a half hour with her until one PM when she goes for lunch with her cunt sister. Actually, when Azmei turns up at the office, her sister is with her but she does not hang out. Which is nice. I go to Costa with Azmei and have the largest cappuccino going (which later gives me a real buzz). I sit down with Azmei and have so much to say, so much to talk about, the half hour flies by full of actual content (as opposed to our last lunch which was a real non-versation). When we are done, we walk into town slightly and I/we meet up with her sister. Remember now, her sister wildly told me that she would force her sister to choose between me and her last week but now it doesnâ€™t appear to have happened. Awkwardly I see her sister and go â€œhelloâ€� and then go â€œbyeâ€�. That was hard.

However, I donâ€™t fucking care, the BIG cappuccino caffeine sees me flying for the remainder of the day. After lunch, my first stop off is at the new, refurbished Virgin Megastore and it is lush! And not least for the additional DVD sections now and the sudden appearance of the entire Relic Hunter back catalogue. Yes! While in there, I see the Ipswich Town fan from my English class, whose thunder I think I may have stolen by being a Millwall fan. We look at eachother briefly but donâ€™t acknowledge eachother (fine by me).

Winter is coming and I really need a new coat. My coat itself is ok but since mum cut the fucking ripped lining out (duh) it currently looks a fucking mess. So basically, I am looking around town for a coat exactly the same as my current one. And can I find it? Can I fuck! Where on earth are all the decent coats? Maybe first of all I need to find the decent stores.

I wander back into the office and have a fairly doss afternoon. Today I have come to the conclusion that all my favourite words begin with the letter â€œCâ€�. And in my hyperactive afternoon, not least as a result of Stevo not being around, sees me quote â€œgood moods donâ€™t suit me do they?â€�. Very rhetorical.

At some point over the afternoon Ivan comes over to Chernobyl and â€œOut Of My League Girlâ€� (Â© Azmei) that works in Wellington House and walks past our office every day turns out to actually be called â€œNatalieâ€�. Great, I now have a moniker for the person I perv over.

With work out of the way at 5pm, I run (not walk) into town to pick up some more Relic Hunter DVDs.

My day however becomes stunted when I wind up having a real no no evening. My early evening mainly consists of battered MSN with Sara (with me being PM Jason, in other words Nice Jason) followed by some MSN with Bella. I also put up with the standard Friday night fare on TV and suddenly feel devoid of a life and purpose. Nevermind.

np: Seals & Croft â€“ Summer Breeze

2004-10-23T09:35:00.000Z

September 23 (Thursday): Giunta. No repeat of last Thursdayâ€™s bad back agony this morning thankfully. Today opens up with some very laboured MSN with Sara. I keep attempting to get out of her what those dramatic texts last night were about but really it is truly like pulling teeth. I only wind up in contact with her for a short time as she is frustratingly non-responsive.

In work, I pick up another pony job but today this one is called James Brown, which promptly causes me to text everybody I know to tell them that I am working on the accounts of the Godfather Of Soul. Kind of. Sometimes, I really am annoying.

Today I am supposed to be having lunch with Azmei and I am actually really looking forward to it but unsurprisingly she blows me out, pulling out at 12.10. I donâ€™t get pissed off because it all comes half expected but I am disappointed because was looking forward to going out for lunch, not least for being really really hungry. Instead, in the end, I opt for a Burger King on my own (taken back to Chernobyl to stink it out/up for everyone). Tastes so good.

As I check the newspaper I read that Stoke have put in an offer for Paul Ifill. I am now officially worried, Millwall have visibly missed him this season since he got injured on the opening day of the season and with the wide gap/void Cahill has left, he really is someone that Millwall needs to hang onto in order to have a chance of doing anything this season.

In the afternoon I find myself morbidly regularly checking the news on my phone, to see if Mr Ken Bigley has yet been executed. Personally it seems to me that people are itching for the inevitable to happen in order to have a reason/opportunity to sound off, it is as they are looking to use this as a route to kicking off. I do find it really weird how the reaction to his capture differs completely to the capture and beheading of the two Americans taken hostage with him at the same time. Needless to say, despite my repeated checks Mr Bigley lives to fight another day.

Tensions hit heights in Chernobyl as Stevo keeps flying at me and is now accusing me of being a pervert because I said I fancied the Chinese lady that lives opposite our office. Nothing wrong in that except that she is off pension age like Stevo. Ho ho. Whatever though, if it annoys him, Iâ€™ll pick up the ball and run with it. And the crazy Chinese lady is really funny, the way she waddles up and down the road in her old Burberry coat, peering over her glasses at everything and shouting conversations. Then again, I might just be talking myself into fancying her. Has he never seen Harold And Maude?

I also spend an extended period this afternoon why Cat Stevens is actually cool (he is in the news today because he has just been prevented from entering the USA). For the record, Cat Stevens is cool/hip because of his involvement in the soundtrack for Harold And Maude. His otherwise, drippy, wet, dull folk songs really gain a dark air to them for the passionate images, visuals and meanings they accompany in Harold And Maude. However, trying to explain this to people who have never seen the film and actually probably not even heard a dozen Cat Stevens songs themselves, well, its mission unaccomplished on my part.

And when I get in, more entertainment news when I read on the Guided By Voices email list Postal Blowfish reports the death of Russ Meyer. It doesnâ€™t exactly come out of the blue, the bloke hasnâ€™t made a film in thirty year but its still a drag all the same, his films could actually be pretty ace.

Before I am able to makes moves, Bella hits me on MSN and when I tell her Iâ€™m going to class, she wonders just what on earth I am talking about. I explain to her that I am doing an English course to which she generally reacts â€œcoolâ€� and I am currently bigging it up to her.

I eventually get going, going to class. This is week three but only my second and already I feel a little bit like an outcast, everyone seems to be buddying up after two weeks. Teacher however is cool and when I explain to her that I was absent last week because I was at Millwall, she tells me that her boyfriend is a Millwall fan too. Cool! I really like teacher, she is very cool, even if she is dressed like Austin Powers (kind of) this week. I get the hand outs from last week and they were doing poems by Whitman and Ginsberg! I missed out poems I actually know. This week however we appear to be continuing to batter Christina Rossetti to death again. At break time, we venture downstairs and I knock about with Emma. After break, we continue and I look around at my class mates and decide that I really donâ€™t like any of them. Still, I get a big kick when halfway through a spiel about some poem or other, teacher stops dead and looks at me in my Millwall polo shirt and goes â€œgod, youâ€™re a Millwall shirt. I know the Millwall song, my boyfriend made me learn their songâ€� and she promptly sings the first few lines of Let â€˜Em Come at me.

When I leave the class though, I do feel headfucked by it all so I head to Asda to buy dinner. When I get in I find myself on MSN with Bella once more, which only serves to headfuck me further, with me asking her â€œhave you been online all this time?â€�. Affirmative.

Just before I left tonight, like an idiot I left my window open and I only return to about half a dozen daddy long legs all in my bedroom, all buzzing around and attacking me. I takes me forever to get rid of the fuckers.

np: Sum 41 â€“ In Too Deep

2004-10-23T09:34:00.000Z

September 22 (Wednesday): Baccalieri. I wake up this morning feeling like I want to punch myself in the face. I find myself late leaving home, a sure sign of reluctance in my attitude towards my destination (work). Also I have to make moves to make a visit to the doctors and when I keep phoning the surgery/practise the number seems permanently busy, which suits me, I don't want to go to the doctors so he can look at my ticket. Sixth call though, and I am in like Flint, the woman giving me an appointment for 3pm this afternoon. I become officially nervous.

At work, Lulu is in for the first time this week, having been in London at BPP courses for the previous two days (I am so jealous). I tell her about Friday and she finds great humour in it all and actually seems almost impressed by what I did.

At lunchtime I go to the cheapo bookshop with an urge/desire to purchase cheap WWF books. I hit paydirt when I find the Hulk Hogan autobiography there for just Â£2. I add to this some crappy WWF Trivia Book and Dice Man by Luke Rhinehart and I get three books for five pounds which I am unlikely to actually get around to reading.

I find myself talking to people about my doctor's appointment and the reasons why, maybe I shouldn't be talking so explicitly to people about my penis. It all adds and works towards making light (and finding humour) in something that I am really really worried about.

3pm comes around and just before popping into the doctors, I drop in at home and wash myself (you know where) thoroughly. I get to the doctors on time and sit wholly nervously and await being called in to the doctor (called in to my death). There is something really unnerving about having a doctor called Dr Banna, Banna pronounced "Banner" as in Dr Bruce David Banner aka the Incredible Hulk. Is it possible he will take one look at my cock and go green? I get called in and bite my lip as I thoroughly embarrass myself in front of the doctor, getting the fella out when the fella really doesnâ€™t want to come out. It is panic stations early on when he looks at my problem and then asks â€œdo you have health insurance?â€?. Not funny. The doctor is rather droll, making a couple of muted jokes and telling me I have nothing to worry about, I just need a snip. Dude, donâ€™t say that. In what seems less than two minutes, I am in and out of there, with a future date at the hospital lined up.

When I walk back to work, I feel pale. I stumble in and just miss seeing Purple Haired Girl by seconds. All girls will always let me down but her existence will always remain a happy constant for me. I saunter back into the office and have the piss ripped out of me for my little visit to the doctor's.

After work, we have football and this week it is a league match against Birkets. Our team this week is Iran, Jeremy, Kev, Jack, Ben and myself. Before the game I note that we donâ€™t have any scorers nor any real runners. Andrew has now started uni in Hertfordshire and will no longer be available. I however turn up late, Andrew from Hays finally catches up with me and gets hold of me on the phone. We discuss the job position at Rose's and we now have reached a sticking point with regards to study assistance. We end the call with a sticky wicket, he is going to get back to them and then back to me however they do not seem open/interested in paying for any of my fees (which to be honest are nearly £2,000).

When I finally arrive, the game is already in motion and Jack is actually playing in goal. Holly calamity. I quickly get changed and take my place in goal, for all the good it does. This week Birkets are ON and soon they are 4-0 within what seems minutes of my arrival. Ben's isn't moving much this week either and is getting stripped but then again, the majority of our team appear to suffer in the mobility area, mainly Iran and Jeremy do the running and appear to resent it as a result. I canâ€™t decide if I have a bad game or it weâ€™re just unfortunate. I do make saves though. I know this because sodâ€™s fucking law, I take the hardest shot in my bollocks that I have taken in months (ironically on the same day that I went to the doctorâ€™s for the fella). Late in the first half Jev severely takes Ben out, flooring him like a motherfucker and there is a sudden apparent air that league matches get taken more seriously than the friendlies of last week. Ben looks fucked off and shocked, and pretty winded, by Jevâ€™s actions, to the point Jack calls him off before he soughts revenge. Ultimately, the first half is a disaster as we go in half time trailing 2-13. Things pick up slightly in the second half and we actually begin to score and come into the game (but perhaps this coincides with Birket's able to take it all easy). Eventually the game ends with us on the losing end of a 9-23 score line. After the match, Ben leaves unimpressed and I'm likewise.

When I return to my car, I dig out my mobile phone and there is message from Sara going "it just keeps getting worse". I wonder what on earth is up but Sara remains tight lipped, being cryptic for a text before stopping to reply all together. I really worry about her sometimes.

On my way home, I find myself scraping together pennies in order to get some dinner, and I wind up with only just about enough coinage to buy some sugar sugar cereal. Very healthy.

When I finally get in, The Wedding Singer is on TV and I dig that movie however I do find myself asleep by 9pm. Why the fuck am I so tired and lethargic these days? Need greens I guess.

In the meantime, I awaken around midnight to discover that Millwall have beaten Derby 3-1 which is an amazing result.

I go back to sleep but find myself being scared out of my life when at 3 AM Tom begins MSNing me like mad, my computer binging a dozen times in a matter of seconds scaring the living shit out of me, thinking my PC is coming alive to kill me, out of revenge for all the abuse I hand it. I politely tell Tom to â€œfuck offâ€? pointing out that it is a school night and I have work (unlike him). He apologies and I go back to sleep, listening to an MP3 of a Hunter S Thompson lecture.

I just about manage to fall asleep when at fucking 5 AM, Bella begins beeping me on MSN, waking me up again. What on earth is wrong with these people? Donâ€™t they sleep? Vampire killers.

I NEED MORE SLEEP!!!!

np: Men At Work - Down Under

2004-10-23T09:32:00.000Z

September 21 (Tuesday): Bompensiero. Another day beginning of more random MSN from Sara. What gets said, no one will ever know, like a dream every day it gets forgotten almost immediately.

Today at work is spent with Stevo telling us over and over about the Star Wars DVDs and telling us all facts from the extras with neither knew nor wanted to.

The working day again is a snorer and at lunchtime, me and Stevenator get Chinese buffet and it tastes fantastic. This is Mr Wingâ€™s place and he is a real player in Colchester apparently, from having a number of properties right up to being known as a player to the Triad. Apparently when there was that high speed gangster chase down the A12 from London and the guy just gave himself in at the police station screaming â€œarrest me, the Triad are after meâ€� (which made it into The Sun!), I have been told this was the guy and the place the crim was headed to. This place is smaller and cheaper than Zentral but the food tastes so much more nicer, the ribs taste sweeter and it all must be badder (more unhealthy) for you. When we are done, we are the last people left in the restaurant and the guy serving us keeps asking if I want another plate, a sure sign Iâ€™m getting fatter. And here you actually get fortune cookies, mine which reads â€œThe well-beaten path is not always the right roadâ€�. Amen brother.

After work, I head to my parents again, as per fucking usual in my boring routine. I wonder if people are as bored reading this as I am bored writing it? As I leave, I drive past the football ground, already chock full of WBA supporters at six pm. When I get in I blag some grub and bum about home. I call up Mark to see how his latest job hunting efforts in London are going, hopefully better than mine went.

Meanwhile back in Colchester, the Uâ€™s are beating West Brom 2-1 in the Carling Cup. Whoops, maybe I should have been there instead.

I stay home and watch The Sopranos on E4 before bumming off home, listening to Mark Radcliffe on the way. As soon as I get in, I have Tom and B both hitting me on MSN but ultimately Iâ€™m too tired to comply and scrape too much worthwhile conversation off my back. Good night.

np: Suicidal Tendencies â€“ I Saw Your Mommy

2004-10-22T19:31:00.000Z

September 20 (Monday): Bucco. The morning begins with me awakening shattered and miserable, more sleep please! I MSN Sara briefly and she is hungover and teasing me about eating a dog biscuit. Still! Its Monday morning and I walk in, to work in. As I listen to Moyles on my phone, it rings and I am rudely interrupted by Andy at Hays getting in touch to ask me further about the Roses job. I tell him that I need to see at work how much study will cost next year and that it really needs to be part of my employment package. I quote him a figure of Â£1500 and he says that might throw a spanner in the works and that I will have to quote him an exact figure before he can speak to them to negotiate on my behalf. When I finally get in and look into figures, courses for the final three ACCA exams with BPP top Â£1900 and 25 days! Ouch! Suddenly I find myself getting very serious about my professional studies. I telephone Andy Hays back and it begins to look bleak. And add this to the fact that I am already getting cold feet.

Today I am in a pretty good mood in actuality, bouncing about Chernobyl with vigour. Sometimes I am so wrong. Early morning, a woman who looks exactly like Chan Marshall crosses. I am in like. However she is wearing one of those stupid ponchos that all trendy chav girls appear to be wearing/sporting like fucking fools. Ha ha!

Today is Mr Who's birthday. Today he is old. I don't think people his age actually have a number, their age is just old. Whatever though, the whole office gets cakes so we like him for that.

In the office I find myself liked. For the off I find myself telling Stevo and Sandip too much detail about Friday night and it is met with equal amounts of hilarity and disbelief. And I actually find myself telling them more details than I told to Sara!

At lunchtime Stevo and I go to town to buy the Star Wars DVD box set like a couple of kids in a sweet shop. We get our DVDs in Woolworths where staff are dressed like Jedi and Wookies. This is the way forward in retail. And its kind of amusing when the staff Stevo if he wants to buy a half price lightsabre and not me! From there we head to the New Inn where Who is dishing out birthday drinks. When we arrive, it is just him, Drew and Ivan and is a pretty pathetic sight, with the atmosphere akin to a wake. Even none of the partners have turned up and I genuinely believe now that there is something going on behind the scenes between the partners of the firm and perhaps that he and Jack may have fallen out. So us four come along and at least manage to liven things up, even if it is ever so slightly. It happens.

Stevo gives me a lift home for the first time in a month, so I guess this now represents his shoulder is officially better. When I get in, I watch that awful Don't Be A Menaceâ€¦. movie that I bought on DVD from Swag Converters Saturday. I used to think this movie was funny/cool but now it is so bad, it depresses me and sends me to sleep.

When I wake up I actually manage to write the rest of the evening, right through until the Sopranos is. Bickety bam!

np: Afghan Whigs - Retard

2004-10-22T19:27:00.001Z

September 19 (Sunday): Moltisanti. Sunday morning, good times. Wow, my shine is already wearing off. Whoops. Here comes the usual Sunday morning sparring bout with Sara on MSN. And today it is a real battle for some reason, we snap at each other and get explicit revealing peccadilloes and perversions, we get boringly clinical about sex in an attempt to gross eachother out I think. And this lasts for a very long period of the morning, starting out fun but becoming tired probably during the first hour of the approximate four.

Today I am considering going up to Millwall to see the heroes from Thursday night, when I genuinely felt inspired. Weather wise, the day kicks off healthily but soon peters out and this (good weather) is an essential ingredient/element when deciding whether you are going to drag your arse to Bermondsey on a Sunday afternoon or not. In the end, the weather doesn't cut it ,so neither do I.

Instead, I watch the remainder of Fubar (cancer of the bollock of the bollock should NOT be funny!) and spend a boring slow Sunday at home, save for the newspaper run of a dozen stores searching for an Observer with music section. I wind up in town and there I manage to get a paper. I also text Emma to see what English homework this week was. Seems nothing.

When I get home, Three Amigos is on TV and there is always a little time in my heart for the comedic genius of Chevy Chase. First though, I cook my lunch which turns out to be baked beans in Consomme soup and it is thoroughly revolting.

I attempt to listen to Millwall v Watford on internet radio on BBC London but for some stupid reason, last week I deleted RealPlayer from my computer and I wind up spending almost an hour trying to reinstall it. When I finally hit paydirt, Millwall sound fucking atrocious and they go down 2-0 to Watford and Danny Dichio manages to get himself sent off. Bravo. All in all, I'm glad I didn't bother going.

Around 5pm Mark phones up and I go around his and play Pro Evolution 3 and talk about job hunting whilst also watching some of the groomer channels on cable. Result, I blag some dinner and we head to the Hogshead around 8pm to do the quiz.

Spookily when we arrive at the Hogs, I see Bagley again but once more I ignore the prick, mainly because of the stories I found out last summer that he had been spreading about me, communication would only be opening up a can of worms I feel. In the pub with hook up with Mark's mate Mark who is some kind of birdwatcher and has the loudest, bellowing laugh and a whole bunch of other Frisbee players. A few more people turn up, including the Emily girl whose mum used to teach at my old school. And the girl I semi find attractive, probably due to being an apparent combination of a couple of other girls I previously had a thing for also. In other words, not traditionally attractive, well spoken and drippy sounding (sorry). The quiz happens and its hard work, I don't think I even answer one question. I do however look up the answer to a question on GPRS, for which I get royally spoken down to for doing; goody goodies. The quiz ends and we all go home.

When I get in, My Cousin Vinny is on TV (and I love Marisa Tomei) but tonight ends with today being the day Bella talks me into registering for MySpace.com. It is the new Friendster. Please log on and be my friend. I wind up on Msn with B until well past midnight, which probably isn't the smartest move being a school night and all.

np: Nelly - Flap Your Wings

2004-10-22T19:22:00.000Z

Colchester United v Milton Keynes Dons. Fuck all fans in the away end.

2004-10-22T19:17:00.000Z

September 18 (Saturday): Melfi. Good morning Britain. This morning I am up and in good spirits. I have mixed emotions with regards to last night but its good that it happened all the same, I guess in life when you get these opportunities you have to take them.

This morning Phoebe is taking her Advanced Audit retake, the exam that ACCA lost so I text her with good luck wishes and intentions.

Today is a slow burner, taking much too long to get going but it comes complete with an urgency to get into town; the urgency pathetically being to get to WH Smiths in time before they sell out of Only Fools And Horses DVDs. I know, I suck.

When I eventually tumble into town it is a very nice/beautiful morning, summer hasnâ€™t quite evaded us yet. Mission is accomplished when I manage to get my DVD along with the Saturday papers. This morning I am feeling good, the world is my oyster. I stop by HMV and get retail therapy itches and snap up Fubar on DVD.

As I walk along Crouch Street back to my car I see Nina sat at the steps to the entrance of the old (now derelict) Odeon cinema. I go over and sit and talk with her. It turns out her Gran is ill again and she is about to get a lift from her brother to the hospital, so she is pretty down as per is usual sadly with Nina. We sit shooting the shit sitting on the steps of the old Odeon like a couple of pikeys until her brother and mum turn up. Ben shouts out and asks me if I want to go to the football today. I say yay, I am a fool. On my way back I pop into Swag Converter and get the itching finger again and wind up buying even more DVDs.

When I get back in, Bella hits me on MSN. I amuse her by telling her that I am still eating the balti mix from last night (which sadly, pretty much constitutes my meals/diet today).

Around 2pm my already busy day (ha ha) catches up on me and I fall asleep. I awaken to find a text from Phoebe with, what seems, half arsed gratitude but also Ben has been trying to call and get in touch. Just as I pick the phone up he calls again and tells me he will be around at 2.30.

I pull the flat together a bit for when Ben comes around. I take some bin bags out to the bins and see my uncle, my dadâ€™s boss. Fucking hell he looks old. I semi want to speak to him but semi I donâ€™t want.

Ben hits the hut on time and we head to Layer Road to see Colchester United play Milton Keynes Dons. After watching Millwall, going to Layer Road is now quite a comedown. And it is also Â£15 for a normal spod (such as myself) to get into the Barside, which against Â£23 for the Upper East at Millwall is a bit of a piss take. Such is life.

Today is a pretty interesting game, the MK Dons are a real freakshow of a football club. I know Stevo vehemently hates them to the pit of his stomach but I am surprised when Col U fans appear to be into them just as passionately. As count the Milton Keynes following (25 at first count and barely up to 50 by the game), the fans around me sing â€œfake team, shit fansâ€�. As Ben says to me â€œMK Dons at home, you expect itâ€™s a bit of a givenâ€�. The teams come out and the Barside really doesnâ€™t fill too heavily, which is nice as it means you get a view and do not get uncomfortable. On the pitch, today both teams play fucking pathetically, the Col U strikeforce is lacklustre to say the least and likewise MK Dons manage to create opportunities but only manage to fluff them at every point. On the bench for Milton Keynes is ex-Ipswich midfielder Steve Palmer but otherwise they are a bunch of nobodies, pretty much youth team players from when they were the old club. Colchesterâ€™s team actually reads pretty good on paper but Bowry is out injured and Ben May begins on the bench, thus ends my interest in their players. Also Sam Stockley, the player I rate most at Col U, is also out injured. Ben tells me just what a star Karl Fagan has been this year and with him looking a little like Arsenalâ€™s star player, the crowd sings out â€œThierry Faganâ€�. More abuse gets hurled towards MK Dons in the form of â€œfranchise scumâ€� and â€œyouâ€™re just a shit town in Lutonâ€�. The game turns out to be a bit of a snorer. This is my first visit to Layer Road this year and the pitch looks fantastic but otherwise it doesnâ€™t look overly great to me or any great improvement. Col U press hard but rarely seem to get anywhere and when Milton Keynes make their occasion breaks, they do look pretty dangerous a lot due to the apparent shakiness of Col U at the back. Just before halftime a semi inevitable occurs when MK take the lead. Even though Col U had had the majority of the half, MK had always looked good for the half to sneak something.

At halftime when the teams usually have a group of kids taking penalties against eachother, today it was just Col U, MK Dons could not muster enough kids to compete. The MK Dons are a strange phenomenon; you wonder where the fuck are they from? To some extent they look like people who have never been to football ever before in their lives and with it are far too enthusiastic and keen but as Ben rightly points out, if youâ€™re going to support MK Dons you can hardly be half arsed about it because everyone is going to hate you. The game ends as the lacklustre Col U fail to get back into the game while MK Dons are equally as lacklustre, blowing two easy chances that I could/would probably even have put in. After the game, we spill out onto the streets and this is MK Dons first ever away win in the league and their newbie fans large it while we look at them and consider that they had best calm down before some rabid Col U fans get hold of them for acting like pricks in a foreign land. I step over with Ben as he books a seat on the coach to Walsall for a few weeks time and I see Steve Lamacq and what seems to be Mark Bagley from school (with long gay curly hair all of a sudden) chewing his ear off. Is this some weird alternate universe I have appeared in?

I get back in for five and am really hungry, so once the football traffic clears up, I head to the chip shop for a lazy dinner. BBC are repeating one of the latest Christmas episodes of Only Fools And Horses, so I watch some of that (like a chump).

Bored and lonely, I phone Mark up to see what he is up to. He has company down for the weekend and is about to do dinner but he tells me once he is done he will give me a call to hook up.

I begin watching Fubar and I really donâ€™t get it initially. For a mockumentary, the characters are just too wild and unbelievable at first but when their old, now reformed buddy acts too old to hang out with them (under the thumb of his girlfriend) it suddenly rings home that this film can be kind of spot on. Still, the main two characters are anything but endearing, which I guess is part of the point. I stop watching the movie at 9pm as BBC2 are repeating the Peter Cook documentary from a few Christmases ago, which always will take priority.

Around 10pm Mark phones but I am too tired/knackered to go out, who goes out at 10pm? Even if it is a Saturday. Lazy Jase.

np: Superchunk â€“ Throwing Things

2004-10-22T19:16:00.000Z

September 17 (Friday): Aprille. More lateness from Graham. Today, in order to get a quick â€œoffâ€? this evening, I drive into work. Still, it doesnâ€™t prevent me from being late into work.

Today is the big day for me, my long awaited little trip to Cambridge occurs tonight but first, first I have to get the working day out the way. Earlier in the week Eva asked me to call her up this morning to confirm this evening and as I head out to finish off the VAT return for Acme Brickwork, I make the call from my car. I speak to Eva once more and she tells me that she has had trouble receiving the explicit email that I sent her, so I figure I had best get it to her today, soon, by hook or by crook, by any means necessary.

I get to Acme Brickwork and deal with Daniel and Kevin. Daniel, a drippy Man Utd fan, tells me how he watched the Millwall game on Bravo last and that he enjoyed it although they didnâ€™t look too great. He also noticed how great Marvin Elliott was. Acmce Brickwork turns out to be a real breeze; the job is a pickle but nothing beyond me.

When I get back to the office, Stevo whines like fuck about going to lunch and I wind up giving in and heading to the New Inn with him and Brian where we sit cramped, eating pretty awful food/lunch. Why on earth do we bother going to places like this? The meal ends on a low when Brian finishes up and leaves early, before us, with Stevo in mid moan/rant about Sunny or something. I just screw up my face.

With the dinner out of the way, I head/fly to town to get some essentials. On the way I bump into Andrew Osment who I used to go to school with and he is pretty different, looking and acting really older, much more than I do, for someone the same age. In town, I buy the essentials, supplies for this evening: headache pills, water, stomach pills. I also go to the cash machine and pull out cash on my Virgin credit card, never the best move.

The afternoon turns out to be a real drag, lasting forever with nothing happening and being a typical Friday afternoon in the office with none of the partners being around. All in all, in our little Chernobyl, with Sandip elsewhere, very little work gets done. Instead we pick up todayâ€™s Sun and each/all do the Chav test. When all is said and done, my score comes out at 31%, telling me that I am Chav-lite and that I want/need to let the inner chav in me come out.

Also in the afternoon, Andrew at Hays telephones me to tell me that Rose Calendars have chosen me for their position and offered me the job. Man, I have much bigger things on my mind today, why throw my concentration at an hour such as now? I tell Andrew â€œthatâ€™s coolâ€? and I tell him that I will think it over during the weekend. He actually give me his personal/home mobile telephone number so that I can contact him on that front, the man is keen. The only holding/sticking point now seems to be study and such costs.

The afternoon turns out to be 100% nerve-wracking, resulting in me spending much of my time sat on my throne in the bathroom, a probable combination of the bad food of the New Inn, my new job offer and my impending â€œdateâ€? with Eva.

Finally/eventually five oâ€™clock comes around and everyone flies out of the office like Fred Flintstone out of his quarry. By 5pm the office is dead and Who is the only remaining partner and now that he wields very little authority, all the office is out the door pretty much at 5pm on the dot.

I tear out of town like a man on a mission. As advised I take the A120 route and initially I really begin to wonder if this is the correct/best route. On the radio however the DJ (however) is playing songs in order from the nineties and for 1992 it is Come As You Are by Nirvana and in my car it sounds so magnificent. The A120 is a strange road, you drive through pit roads of Marks Tey and when you eventually hit a motorway around Braintree area, you sense you should have stayed on the A12. By 6pm however I find myself flying along the M11, well on my way to Cambridge and looking obvious that I will be arriving much too early for 7.30.

I remain on the M11 instead of switching to the A11 and it soon becomes apparent that I am going to be in town (Cambridge) before 6.30. When I hit the A14, I miss my turning so decide to go for a little drive around Cambridge. My phone beeps but I cannot reach it after it falls down the side of the passenger sear. I end up in a place called Bar Hill and go to their Tesco for a piss. I check my phone and it is Eva telling me that she has just read my email. She texts back suggesting 7.00.

I tear out of Bar Hill (pretty horrible on first impressions) and am soon back on the A14. I find my way and eventually see a motorway sign for Milton and I begin to get really nervous. I park up as soon as I go into Milton and call her up asking for specifics of her location. She gives me directions and an address and tells me it is pretty easy to find (this I doubt) but tells me not to arrive before 7.00. Her address is 223 The Spires or something. I drive along and actually find the road easy, still with about 10/15 minutes to waste. I also find another Tesco, one almost exactly like the store in Bar Hill.

I drive towards the address for 7pm and Miltonâ€™s residential area is really lovely, surrounded by trees giving it a warm feel and new/recently built houses already looking like warms, new but not sterile. The address for our rendezvous turns out to be a flat, which semi calms me down after imagining all kinds of scenarios of seeing a professional lady in a domestic scenario/situation (ie a home).

Now, it depends on how well you know me as to whether you believe me or not when I say that I eat a dog biscuit and find myself forced to masturbate into a dog bowl whilst being slapped in the face. For full details of happened, please feel free to email me.

When I get downstairs and outside I jump in my car, check my phone for messages and down so much water it is obscene. The hour is 8.30 heading towards 9.00 and I feel shattered, hungry and thirsty. I get in my car and drive of, out of Milton. I stop by at the Milton Tesco and canâ€™t decide what treats to buy. I plump for crispy M&Ms and the biggest bag of balti mix ever seen in history. Whilst in the shop I see the most amazing looking lady/girl. She looks normal but when I see her again in the car park, she is driving a sports car.

I tear home in the rain, bombing down the A14 eager to get home. The drive is long and I think about things aplenty, being pretty philosophical in the process.

I get back to Colchester at around 10pm and pop into the Highwoods Tesco for some more essentials.

When I get in (finally), B is online on MSN and I say â€œhiâ€?. We have a fantastic chat and I tell her (vaguely) what I have done, in full mind of how she reacted to when I told her about Victoria back in the day. I also give her a play-by-play of my overeating of a too big bag of balti mix while she points to various garments on Ebay she appears to wish she could buy.

This evening though, MSN turns out to be my downfall when Sarah (Shah!) comes online to speak to me. We start out being fairly nice nice but then she begins to piss me off, not least for boasting about how some guy from Capita in Manchester had taken her to dinner in Manchester. Is this told to make me jealous? I donâ€™t want to fucking know. However, I am fortunately in a fine mood, so I go out of my way to repulse her, telling her graphically what I have just gotten up to in Cambridgeshire. She begins ragging on me, accusing me of being a pervert or something, telling me that I am â€œjust as bad as the partnersâ€? at BS. I donâ€™t fucking care. However this does get us onto the subject of work and she begins moaning about my work mates and going out. The hell night from July, where I just walked off, gets mentioned and she has the fucking arrogance to say that she had a good time (while I had the worst time, she had a good time seemingly at my expense). However, I get in the last/best blow when I tell her that everyone at my firm thinks she is â€œmixed picklesâ€?, which is not opinion, its fact. She explodes and goes postal, signing offline immediately. Then she returns online for a few seconds saying â€œwhen Azmei (her sister) gets back Tuesday, I am going to tell her that she can either be friends with me or you. And if she is wise, she will choose meâ€?. Wow, these are the words of a 28 year old sounding like the words of a pre-teen. Iâ€™m such a dippy cunt for even bothering with her. Still, like a cute prick, I think its funny and text her â€œcome back online, you sound sadâ€?, as if I actually care about her feelings at all.

I go back to B (a safer bet) and tell her about my â€œstalkerâ€? Sarah and I go to sleep thinking about the evening.

np: Nirvana - Come As You Are

2004-10-17T16:54:00.000Z

Millwall v Ferencvaros: second half attack

2004-10-17T16:52:00.000Z

there are some Ferencvaros fans there somewhere

2004-10-17T16:49:00.001Z

September 16 (Thursday): Parisi. This is the stuff of dreams. I wake up however after the worst night going, with my back putting me in absolute utter agony. Oh shit, does mean that I am now officially old? Joking aside, my back absolutely canes and thoroughly worries me. I struggle to get out of bed and contemplate not going into work (and I never take sick days - note to future employers). I worry about the evening and will I actually be able to go to Millwall, how can I if I can't actually sit?

Wailing in pain, I get into some early morning MSN with Sara (as per usual) and after some groaning she tells me that she "loves me", which always annoys and winds me up when she says it. Some people are able just to toss off that term, without meaning nor care. I ask her, Bear At Bedtime style, "is that mummy love or dirty love?" Turns out, mummy love, the shit love.

I drive into work and park up, still hobbling and aching in pain, having regular back spasms with every change in motion. Wha' happened?

The day at work moves unbelievably slowly, it just proves an obstacle in my way to getting to Millwall and the UEFA Cup. In the afternoon, boredom overcomes me and I decide to annoy Sara and I text her "I love you." Whoops, she then texts back thinking that I am serious, her freaking out. Oh yeah, when she texts/tells it to me its fine but when I do so to her, she goes bananas.

Not before time, 5pm finally arrives and I run out on the dot and speed (as best as possible) to the train station, to Millwall. I drag Stevo along and give him a lift to the station (bare in mind, he is currently out of action due to his shoulder so he is catching the train to work). While I park up, I drop him off to get me a ticket. I get a plush parking spot and when I get to the station entrance, Stevo is shouting at me to get a move on. It seems when I gave him my credit card to get a train ticket, the machine wasn't working so he got me a ticket on HIS card. Stevo is too good to me.

We board the train excited, Stevo looking like he wants to go to the game more than I do. As we pass Marks Tey, I see someone in a Millwall shirt; there are more Millwall fans in the Colchester area? Excellent! Stevo gets off at Chelmsford and tells me to keep him updated on the game later. Around this point Sara begins texting me over the "I love you" thing again: "So you love me? Will you promise 2 give me all a girl can wish for and love and cherish me forever?" Heavy.

Good timing, the train arrives at Stratford around 6.15 and I hope of knowing I will get to the ground in good good. The Marks Tey Lions also get off her but whereas I head straight to my train on the Jubilee line, they don't seem to quite know which one to catch, so does that make me the more senior fan? Ho ho. On the way to Canada Water I exchange awkward glances with them and I wonder if they recognise the Millwall away shirt from last season that I have on under my jumper that is slightly visible. The problem is though, I don't really want them to recognise me nor buddy up, they seem to be proper chavs. And when I get off at Canada Water and they do not, I wonder "what the fuck?"

Canada Water turns out to be where I properly hook up with other Millwall fans, all on our way to Surrey Quays and by 7pm I am already at the ground. It is a great dusk evening, one of the few remainders of summer, a great red sky with a chilly air. As I near the ground, taking the Football Factory route (again!) it seems all I can hear in the distance are police sirens, it sounds like there is already a riot in place. When I reach the ground there are no worries, no problems, no trouble except that I buy a program and soon realise my little faux pas at wearing the green and white striped Millwall away shirt from last season, fucking Ferencvaros wear the exact same colours it seems. Whoops, so who will be the first meat head to accuse me of being from Hungary I wonder? I get paranoid I spot a policeman seemingly eyeing me up, I paranoidly suspect he thinks that I am a lost naive Hungarian. What to do? So I just phone home and make sure that dad has got the video right and ready for taping the game (on the tape over the awful Ipswich v Millwall game from Sunday).

Job done, I bite the bullet and go into the ground. I know I'm in the ground a fair bit earlier than usual but it still does feel/seem really subdued, lacking the atmosphere of usual. I go to get a drink and there are cups on all the beer taps and they're turned off, its UEFA does not allow the selling of alcohol at their games. What a sobering thought. I check my pockets to see if I have enough money for a "Match Day Special" (chicken tikka on top of chips) but sadly I don't, so I just plump for chips and a coke and wish I had a mixer. This is probably the first food I have had to eat all day and soon I have polished it off, fat bloater. With the time only about 7.15, I take my seat ridiculously early.

Out on the terrace, it is fucking freezing tonight, the sun setting of earlier is now a long memory and the wind is has started to bite and kick in. I look around the Den, mainly towards the Ferencvaros end and they haven't actually brought too many fans with them but they have however brought the most enormous banners I have ever seen and god only knows what they say. I am not alone in thinking all this as when the Hungarian fans move the banner around, the Millwall fans just sing "what the fucking hell is that? What the fucking hell is that?" The Ferencvaros fans also do this weird arm gesture when chanting prompting me to text Stevo "did the Hungarians just give a seig heil?" The ground is slow in filling and pretty empty from the off and it never really fills up fully, it soon becomes apparent there are loads of empty seats and Stevo, amongst others, could have really got in easy. As kick off neared, the crowd announcer/PA reads out the team in English and then promptly hands the microphone over to a woman who reads the teams out in Hungarian and suddenly there is all a very Eurovision feel to things.

Tonight I have primo seats and once more I actually recognise people I have seen here before and actually wind up sitting next to some guy I sat next to last season at the Sheffield United match. The game kicks off with excitement and soon it becomes evident that the Hungarians are much more skilful than Millwall but Millwall pull out all the stops and for the best part play the game of their lives. At times they seem lacking in ideas but on the whole Wise runs the game soundly and the returning Muscat is generally solid as a rock against a very fevered and tempered foreign assault. The real player of the match ultimately turns out to be the fantastic Marvin Elliott who plays the game of his life in midfield, flying in for everything and quite often winning everything (well, most things). Up front, various chances are made as Millwall attack the North Stand in the first half and Neil Harris has (probably) by far his best game of the season. Stefan Moore on the other hand is pretty terrible. The early scrap is pretty fired and Jody Morris appears to do his best in sticking up to the Hungarians but only manages to wanker himself in the process and has to hobble off after about 20 minutes. In his place, on comes Barry Cogan, another youth player who plays out of his skin and has his best game I have ever seen. And the Canadians Simpson and Serioux do their usual thing of running around, losing the ball and scaring the life out of the Millwall faithful. Ferencvaros really do try it in the first, rough housing and then diving and Millwall only live up to their reputation by matching up to them culminating in a minor brawl late in the first half, seeing Muscat cop most of the blame (and get booked in the process). As we neared half time, Ferencvaros put on a hell of a lot of pressure on the Millwall defence with corner kick after corner kick and mercifully (and probably wrongly) the referee blew up for half time mid way through the Hungarians best opportunities/openings.

After no kids' penalties at half time, the team came back on with as much vigour as the first half and Ferencvaros began to look a bit more livelier. By the second half, the Millwall faithful (Bushwhackers and none) really find their voices singing "En-ger-land! En-ger-land! En-ger-land!" and "where were you in World War II?" The second half turns out to be infinitely harder work than the first but when in the 66th Millwall got a free kick on the edge of the box, I just knew if Dennis Wise took it, it would be a goal. And so it was, as Wisey fucking place that motherfucker in the back of the net and everyone erupted as Millwall got a goal we rightfully more than deserved. I don't know, I just knew it was going in and was probably so eagle-eyed and intent, I was the first in the ground to see it hit the back of the net and get up out of my seat and lose my shit. I turn to the to my right (from Sheff Utd last night) and we exchange Fucking-A! glances of recognition. At this moment Stevo phones me on my mobile and I can't hear him and he can't hear me for screams of "oh Wisey! Woah!! He's only five foot four, he'll break your fucking jaw." So with the lead, Millwall now found themselves under more pressure than ever as Ferencvaros pressed them hard. That said, when they took off the terrible Moore in the 77th and brought on the returning Planet Paul Ifill, it only looked optimistic. As I found myself texting my hope to Stevo, Ferencvaros got their own free kick on the edge of the box, which I just had a feeling was flying in. I don't remember bothering to see the kick go in, just looking up at the wanker celebration of the Hungarians in the 78th minute. Around me, the fans started picking holes in and blaming Stack in goal, who otherwise has been really consistent this year. Before the game, Stevo has been ribbing me that if Millwall give up an away goal in this leg, then they are fucked. So there you go. With time running out and me shaking my head with the guy next to me, a seemingly unfit Dichio came on for the optimistic Harris to charge through with Ifill. Very few highlights occurred during the remainder of the match as the Millwall fans found themselves getting more and more fucked off and coming up with the chant of the game aimed at the Hungarians: "you're only here for asylum, you're only here for asylum." The game ended 1-1, which could have been better and could have been worse but all in all equated to yet fantastic match in an amazing year.

The walk back to Surrey Quays is bleak and chilled, with every fan saying what could have been and boasting of their plans now to hit Budapest in two weeks time. When I get on the train, I once more get paranoid about my green and white shirt as I overhear mention of three thousand people that are heading to Hungary on cheap flight deals etc.

I bounce off the train at Canada Water and wait for a train to Stratford to carry me home, hoping that there will actually be one. After a nervous wait as some kind of brief track failure occurs on the Jubilee Line and some random woman asks me the result, I get on a train headed to Stratford. I see a man who has just been to the match with his son in his wheelchair covered in Millwall stickers eating chips and he looks the most miserable person ever. I look at my own reflection in the window and the depressing feel of late night train journeys on your own hits me and the moment at which you, for some reason, feel at your most loneliest (well, it gets that way for me). Riding the train at night on your own really is quite solemn.

Upon arrival at Stratford, I take my platform and have an endless wait of seemingly the longest fifteen minutes in history. While waiting I bump into Justin Bad Hand Records (home of The Blitters) and it is really scary now how I can just bump into people in London, I really should be here NOW! Me and him converse for a good time and he tells me that he lives quite nearby, which sounds a pretty exciting life to me. He tells me he has some more filmmaking stuff coming up, mainly with the guy from Rothko which all sounds really cool and exciting.

On the big train home to Colchester, I am astounded when I see a girl that looks exactly like Sara on the train reading Jordan's autobiography (ho ho). It is frightening just how much she looks like Sara and she is very smart and business-like and I wonder if catching such a late train (10.45) is all part of the job. For some reason I jump to the conclusion that she is an accountant and is going to be exactly like Sara. I gawp too much but luckily don't get clocked (I think) and then even luckier she gets off at Romford, so from there it becomes out of sight, out of mind. I listen to Mark Radcliffe on my phone radio on the ride home and it is so comforting to listen to him at this hour, a kind of returning to the womb music style and reliving FM radio 95 to 96. And his guest tonight is Noddy Holder reviewing TV including NY-Lon (which apparently I like and he doesn't). Today sadly however has been the death of Johnny Ramone and Radcliffe commemorates this by doing a heartfelt spiel before playing Ramones songs (which he can play a couple of because they are so short). However, song highlight of his show tonight is Ian Brown's new single guesting Noel Gallagher (go figure).

When I get back in Colchester, I am knackered and it is a swarming Thursday night in Colchester. Today I have eaten very little so I contemplate many options in the foodery department but ultimately I want some unhealthy slop like chips and/or kebab. I drive down North Station Road checking out the options and the road looks like carnage, the good kebab shop is gaggling with pissed up looking men hanging out outside. Be avoided methinks. I then look to Bodrums on Crouch Street and one glance at proceedings just appears to echo the state of the union, so I decide to duck out and make the most out of any scraps I might be able to muster at home (which ultimately turns out to be nothing).

Tonight I go to sleep hungry.

np: Ian Brown - Keep What Ya Got

2004-10-17T16:47:00.000Z

September 15 (Wednesday): La Cerva. This morning is one of those days when you wake up ahead of time (ahead of the alarm clock) but realise this and remain thoroughly tired without managing in your attempt to get back to slumberland. I give Sara another peep on MSN this morning and eventually she responds, telling me that she is at work drunk. Bad girl and thatâ€™s all she wrote. Today is another sunny but chilly kind of day, probably my favourite kind.

I get into work and relief it is just me and Emma in the office, no noise, no distractions. Work is getting on top of me big style at moment, I am spending way too much time on podunk jobs and not actually doing to good a job on them either. Louise is back and looking fantastic again. For the past two days she has been up London on BPP courses and I wish I had been too. She tells me that I am too pessimistic about things (mainly exams and Phoebe). Probably.

After a bout of pounding stomach pains (aka the shits), the morning ends pretty much without incident. Just before lunchtime Ivan comes over and asks me if I have seen the travelling theme/fun park that is being constructed on Remembrance Avenue. Oh yes, that gang of pikeys and carneys are becoming the talk of the town. And the sad thing is, everyone is eating it up. It is almost like the Simpsons episode where they get a monorail.

In the evening we have football, a friendly against Birketts, as per usual. Tonight Ben is playing for us and we have a pretty decent team out it seems. When I arrive, Ben is already there 100% up for it. When we get inside it turns out that Kevin (now nicknamed â€œMagicâ€� by Steve) Johnson has had to call/laugh it off, so including Ben there are only five of us tonight against Birketâ€™s six. Ben shows much more enthusiasm than anybody else involved and when we soon fly into an unexpected 4-0 lead, unlike everyone else Ben is going â€œyes!â€� at every goal. Ben slots in at the back and doesnâ€™t really move much and soon gets knackered by the pace. Still, we hold our own and it is a long while before we even concede a goal. Towards the end of the half I begin to let in stupid goals (and getting a shot in the bollocks in the process) but we go in at halftime leading 9-6. The second half begins/continues much as the first half ended and Ben slots in better at the back and is fairly solid. Meanwhile the rest of the team: Ivan, Jeremy and Andrew are all playing blinders and we are knocking a huge lead. At one point I make a save from Birketâ€™s Hedgehog boy and the shot powered my arm against the metal goal post, hurting it like fuck (big bruise next morning). Eventually the game nears an end and it becomes apparent that I might make my personal target of going a game without letting in ten goals. We end the game winning 20-9. The win was a real boost/buzz and was our first win since 14 July.

After the game I find myself talking to Mike (Birkettâ€™s goalkeeper) because he knows Ben from cricket and he also tells me that he was talking to Theo Paphitis at Ipswich on Sunday and he informs me that the Millwall v Ferencvaros game is actually on TV tomorrow night after all, it is on Bravo of all channels. Excellent!!!

Elevated, I actually manage to squeeze in a long overdue bath and fall asleep in my damp bathrobe, which may or may not cause me to get a bad back. The bad back either came from that or from crouching too much whilst playing in goal tonight. You decide.

np: Iggy Pop â€“ Wild America (video mix)

2004-10-17T16:45:00.000Z

September 14 (Tuesday): Cifaretto. Morning. Sara tries to get in touch on MSN. As I walk to work along Layer Road hordes of soldiers with machine guns come stomping along the pavement, my way. The joys of living in Soldier Town.

At work today there is a particular balls up with regards to the year end on a job, which results in almost an Andy v Me incident. I wonder what will become of the fall out, how much blame I will cop and it really stresses me out.

At lunch time I stagger around town with Stevo, trying to avoid spending money.

In the afternoon I call home, call off my usual Tuesday night visit home.

In the evening, once home, I actually manage to get around to doing some writing. I then put on Star Wars: Attack Of The Clones and try to get into it but this one (as opposed to the OK Phantom Menace) genuinely is awful, way too much CGI.

My TV evening is saved however by NY-LON, a show that I have unfortunately avoided but actually turns out to be pretty good.

Thrilling.

np: Goldie â€“ Inner City Life

2004-10-17T16:43:00.000Z

September 13 (Monday): Gualtieri. Today I awaken from a good nightâ€™s sleep. When did I actually go to bed/sleep last night? Whatever time it was, it has proved sufficient. Today there is a feeling of dread applied to this morning, the impending sense of doom has returned and with that, an air of melodrama. Out the window it is a horrible morning, the deepest darkest grey, looking like Hurricane Ivan might be about to perform a detour and pop off for a stop in Colchester.

Sara hasnâ€™t/doesnâ€™t bother to get in touch with me on MSN today. Best leave sleeping dogs to lie and sleep with their bosses. Rightly or wrongly, this morning I am listening to the Smashing Pumpkins. Trust me, before they got big and popular they were actually pretty soothing. I look out of the window and it is absolutely teeming down with rain. Before I leave home, my nerves get shaken as not one but two piles of documents and items fall over from their perches. These are sure fire signs that I should stay in today, I suspect higher powers may be at work.

I manage to leave on time today and as I walk into town, Moyles is on form but he is interrupted by my phone ringing. I answer and it is the guy from Hays asking me how I felt the interview on Friday went. I stutter out some stuff, trying to concoct the kind of stuff I think he wants to hear. He tells me that he will be speaking to Rose today with the hope of getting an answer and that when he does he will get back to me.

I stumble into work before time, being the first of Chernobyl to arrive. Today is a real dry day. I get receive an email from Phoebe, responding to her brush off Friday and she answers â€œIâ€™m so glad we feel the sameâ€�. Except we really do not, she is knocking anything on the head without giving it a try whereas Iâ€™m admitting me and her donâ€™t stand a chance because of logistics. Seems Iâ€™d be willing to go out of my way for her but she wouldnâ€™t me, she wonâ€™t meet me halfway. Her nonchalance annoys me somewhat.

At lunchtime I manage to return to the office from lunch with it empty and I get the chance to call Eva as I said I would. Again she sounds really funny on the phone and an appointment gets suggests for Tuesday or Friday with her telling me that Friday would be better. I agree on this and she begins to ask me what I would like and I feel funny discussing such things over the phone, in such clinical terms. Fortunately at this point Sandip returns and comes in on my conversation so I tell her that I will just have to email her about Friday. It is now cast in stone.

In the afternoon we begin making plans for five-a-side football this week and I text Ben to see if he wants to play, considering half our team are crocked and a bunch of flids. He responds almost immediately with an affirmative.

After work, in the evening, I do a cereal run for grocery shopping, my home eats/diets now mainly consists of Corn Flakes, not least because Kelloggâ€™s have recently been giving away free DVDs with their jumbo boxes. In the past month, I have probably eaten more Corn Flakes than I have in the rest of my combined life. Am I sick of their taste yet? You guess and you bet I am.

For the remainder, the evening is horrible. As a result of Phoebe being the latest lady to blow me out, once more again I feel that all is hopeless and that all is lost. All efforts made once more have been reduced to wasted efforts to get to know somebody and really be part of their life in the pursuit of happiness (or something). Basically, Iâ€™m just gutted.

All in all, the great weekend combined with shit love and shit work life exhausts me and I actually forget that tonight I really needed to have a bath. Whoops, instead I just fall asleep clothed on top of my bed.

I actually wake up in time to catch the Sopranos and I watch it in my living room, chilling out and now partially tidy, my lounge area (complete with new big TV) is almost comfortable.

This too shall pass.

np: Superchunk â€“ The First Part

2004-10-17T16:40:00.000Z

September 12 (Sunday): Lupertazzi. A slow start to a Sunday, were a Sunday done any other way then something would be up/wrong with the world. Today Stevo really wants me to drive the pair of us to Kingsmeadow to see AFC Wimbledon re-enact the 1988 FA Cup Final. After initial promises of a strong turn out of players from that day (especially Jan Molby) I look on the website and the turn out looks/reads fucking pathetic. I blow him out for a day at my parents (hey, they have Sky Sports and Millwall v Ipswich from Portman Road is on there).

The morning turns out to be notable for no Sara on MSN, a blessing in disguise methinks. Instead I settle down to finally watching my Criterion Collection version of Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas on DVD, not least for the BBC documentary on there. I am currently 100% into this film, this existence and form of expression: Hunter S. Thompson is my kind of guy.

Eventually I get off my arse and head to Hereford Road, Holland on Sea to visit mum and dad. I just about make it in time for the kick off of Ipswich v Millwall and the match turns out to be fucking boring and fucking pathetic, with Millwall looking inept and Ipswich, as usual, being the football equivalent of the bumlicking kid at school that got on with the teachers, was semi intelligent (enough to thrive) and good at football (and in the school team). Of course, he was also probably giving a teacher or two a hand and/or blow job behind the scenes. That is just what/how I feel about Ipswich Town Football Club. The game may be crap but Millwall do at least hold their own, snuffing Ipswich out of the game and only having one real shot in the process (from the god-awful Stefan Moore). However, Ipswich predictably knock a couple of goals in during the last ten minutes and win 2-0, the first goals Millwall let in for three games. No further comment needed.

When I first arrived home, no one was home except for the dog. It seems mum and dad are now more intent on moving to Colchester, a pipedream they now seem to be taking seriously. This morning they have been looking at new apartments in a very plush area called Balkerne Heights, any area I would really like a place of my own in actually. So, when they finally get in, they are full of â€œhouses thisâ€� and â€œhouses thatâ€�, when really I am not all that interested, I donâ€™t think they should be leaving the nice safe haven of Holland-on-Sea actually.

After the Millwall game, I knock about home in a bit of a huff, grunting like Kevin The Teenager, albeit no longer ginger having reached the age of 28! What the hell is wrong with me sometimes? Instead of watching Tottenham v Norwich on Sky with dad (two more football clubs I fucking hate), I instead watch my moody VCD of American Splendor for about the twentieth time. This is a guy (I guess) that is more on my level.

I sat/slum around my parents until late on a Sunday evening and I find myself getting too comfortable, it feels so right and so wrong all at the same time. Hey, I almost find myself considering moving back home (hey, my parentâ€™s house has: food, Sky telly, a dog, comfy sofas, its clean, its roomy).

I further indulge in my state of arrested development when I find myself watching the Wrestling Channel and news programme The Bagpipe Report and I find myself taking the news in and taking it really seriously. Did I never grow up? Also whilst channel hopping, I happen across Love Them Os by Eamon. Dude has gone and sampled I Only Have Eyes For You by the Flamingos and it sounds SO good. The world is really sick sometimes.

My visit home ends with me watching four recent episodes of the Simpsons that I have never seen before and they are all pretty awful, I think my favourite TV show is finally long past its sell by date.

The drive home turns out to be a race, seems all the Clacton boyracers come out on Sundays. Whoops.

np: Eamon â€“ Love Them Hos

2004-10-13T20:49:00.000Z

Buckingham Palace 2004

2004-10-13T20:44:00.000Z

this is THE place to have it

2004-10-13T20:43:00.000Z

here be prostitutes

2004-10-13T20:30:00.000Z

The New Den as viewed from the train to Peckham