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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 shouldn’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 “you haven’t forgotten about me have you?�.

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 Sam’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 Griggs when Rachel 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 couldn’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. “Erm, I’m in fucking horrible Edwards with you on a Saturday night, does it look like I have?�. 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 “well why the fuck isn’t he fucking here with you tonight then?�. 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 “flashed� 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 Griggs 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 didn’t fancy him because he had a small cock! So, all in all, this brings about the question in/from me: “was that when you were indecently assaulted then?�. And at this point she curls up physically and mentally and replies “I don’t want to talk about that�. 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 don’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 “when did you last have sex?� shortly followed by “have you ever had sex outside/outdoors?�.

We reach some kind of slipstream when she begins to tell me that I “have no confidence with girls�. Is this derived from the fact tonight I’m finding most girls in this Chav den repulsive or by the fact that I am not hitting on Sarah because tonight she really isn’t working for me. She adds that I need a girlfriend which makes me think “well if things (“dates�) continue like this, there isn’t much fear of that�. 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) and……I’m not sold, she’s still a boring cunt it seems to me. She keeps telling me that I have lost weight when really I don’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 Tony’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 shouldn’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 her’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 “beer goggles not on tonight�.

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 “look at that bamboo over there!� and she replies “don’t be racist� to which I reply utterly ignorant on purpose: “no way, she’s fit!�. I also begin asking really personal questions, probably stopping short at/of “do you shave your bush?�.

The sure sign of death to the evening is when I begin playing with my phone. I almost text Griggs to say “Azmei’s sister, fucking take her�. 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 I’ll be fucked if I’m going elongate this hell any further. She however doesn’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 “aren’t you bored?� 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 she’s not bored and that “I just like listening to the loud music and being here�. Vacant lot, I tell her “you’re a dull girl� and get away with it (I’m learning now you can’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 “my arm hurts� followed by “my tummy hurts�. I look in in disbelief and like its one big laugh comments/jokes “bet its like being around/with a ten year old� to which I respond “a ten year old would be more fun�. I think I bring up the indecently assaulted thing again with a comment like “if you get into this kind of state, no wonder……� and she curls up inside herself again and then suddenly goes “I’m going to be sick�. 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 to….) 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 “hi� were I not patiently waiting for Sarah to return from throwing.

As time carried on, thoughts appear in my mind of “what if she has passed out in a cubicle? How will I get home?� 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 “I’m taking you home (but not to fuck or anything)�. She whinges that she doesn’t want to leave but then also that she doesn’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 “I’ll get you thrown out, I’ll tell the bouncers that you’ve been sick�. 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 doesn’t want to go home (“it’s still early�) 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 “I’ve texted your sister and she says to take you home�. Undeterred, like a nutter, Sarah goes “you’re lying, how late is Yates open?� and she begins walking towards Yates. Like a div I follow her but also I begin texting Azmei saying “your sister is really pissed, what do I do?�.

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 “they won’t let me into Yates� and walk off back to my car pissed off, leaving her stranded in town. I don’t know what person ultimately is the more reckless/irresponsible but if this is how Sarah acts, no wonder she got “indecently assaulted� 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 can’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 B’s house with her weirdo Colchester friends (well, nu metal semi Goths). I can’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 shouldn’t but it sends me straight to sleep.

np: Primal Scream – Swastika Eyes

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.