Archive for October 2001

Carling evil   Leave a comment

Hangover so nasty I feel like someone has removed each cell in my body during the night and punched it. Drank lots of Carling Black Label (one of Britain’s most popular beers, I understand), which is a cunt’s drink. Weak-ass chemical fizz. Had about 6 pints at the wedding. Then went to Steve & Charlie’s party and poured myself a vodka and orange that was about half and half. Then I drank some of this weird shit that came in a straw-covered bottle, and was 50% vol. And tasted hideous, hideous, horrible. Have spent the day carrying Syd up flights of stairs, wiping shitty arses and collecting my hilariously heavy gear from the hotel. Thank fuck it wasn’t nicked. I’ve been worrying through the pain.
A challenging evening’s DJ-ing, as you might expect. Spent a lot of time disappointing a small girl with my lack of Steps, S Club 7, Robbie Williams etc. I held back my Kylie as a trump card for as long as I could. Finally she was requested and every fucker got up as though by remote control, danced, and then sat down again. I am a man of compromise, and Kylie is an international treasure, but it was depressing. “D.M.S.R” passed unnoticed by the throng too, although I expect that when Jesus addressed the crowd there was still going to be somebody at the back going “What you having for your tea tonight?” “Tainted” Love didn’t work even. I dunno, people danced and stuff, but I like to see wildness and serious pleasure.
And then it was morning and I felt like shit. Pushing the sleeping Syd along in the park, I notice that I will pass several clumps of people on my journey around the perimeter. Suddenly this seems too much for my fragile consciousness to bear, especially as people tend to look you in the eye when you’ve got a kid. I almost turn to leave the park but then realise I am being ridiculous. I then have several fractional encounters with the aforementioned human beings:
1) A middle-aged couple with an adorably youthful dog, a terrier of some kind. Seemed to be named “Ulla” or “Ole.” Scandinavian dog?
2) A woman with toddler who goes “baby!” as they invariably do. “Yes, baby,” say the mums.
3) An old man who is dressed accordingly in shirtsleeves, hoeing his garden in the council allotments that run alongside the park. He stares at his watch for at least thirty seconds. Is it because the clocks have just gone back?
4) A really old man with a stick who is making slow progress ahead of me, dead centre of the path. I start to worry that he will not hear my approach, and be startled if I veer off the path onto the grass to pass him, or be offended or saddened by the fact that I treat him as an obstacle rather than a fellow human being who could simply be asked to move aside. I begin to slow down in the vain hope that this will help my dilemma somehow. Then I hear someone coming up behind me! Grim-faced, I plunge into the situation, bearing down on the hapless geriatric with some determination. I then realise that complexities are lining up to thwart my paranoid progress, because the person behind will be passing the old man at the same time as me and Syd! He is bound to assume that he is about to be jumped on by some gang that prey on the elderly the second his decayed hearing picks up our massed presences crowding up behind him. Nothing to be done though. I scoof the pushchair onto the turf to the man’s left just as the young woman who was behind us passes him on his right. She is wearing a baseball cap and moving with confidence and womanly authority, the synthetic material of her trousers rustling regimentally as she strides past us all. The old man suddenly hears her and then stands dumbstruck and motionless as she marches past him. Syd and I glide through his personal space in silent dread, knowing that he still isn’t aware of us. I don’t get to clock his reaction but I trust that he didn’t have a coronary and crumple noiselessly to the ground. For a second as we move back onto the path in front of the old man it strikes me that we are like the three ages of man: Syd asleep in his pushchair, me tormented by countless irksome stimuli, and the doddering confusion of the decrepit old geezer. I note that the young woman is now some distance ahead.

On the way to the park I see this addict chap involved in some activity, partially hidden by trees and bushes. On the way back I see him again. This time he is on the other side of the path, underneath a different tree, scuffing the leaves with his shoe, seemingly looking for something. In one hand he holds a plastic bag.

Posted October 28, 2001 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

The return of dance, music, sex, romance.   Leave a comment

For those of you with an eye for detail and good cross-referencing skills will be thrilled to hear that I found my copy of “D.M.S.R”, and just in time for the wedding engagement tonight. It was located between the gatefold sleeves of The Beatles’ “Rock ‘n’ Roll Music”.

My cup runneth over. My thanks particularly to Alexis Hotchipski for helping through this period of loss.

Dance, music, sex, romance. Let’s do it people.

Posted October 27, 2001 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

My dream life as an Italian slave   Leave a comment

OK, quick dream.
I was working as a slave for a large and eccentric Italian family. The bossy mother was telling me to clear the tables of the cutlery, plates and remains of the food etc. There were several of these tables in different rooms, and for some reason I am moving between them randomly, making the job twice as hard as it should be. I feel very resentful, and started banging plates against tables and walls in the hope of smashing one, but they seemed to be indestructible. The next time the mother comes into the room I leap onto the table like a monkey and let out a shriek in her face. This is barely commented on. I think there were two daughters in the house. I started to have an intimate conversation with one of them. She seemed to be unhappy too. Next thing her brother arrives on a large quad bike thing and drives it up the steps and into the house. He is thickset and has curly hair and a chain round his neck. The daughter tells me to keep away from him. Her face keeps changing…
I tell her I have a son. She sees my girlfriend and tells me that she is very beautiful in “that typically European way”.

Posted October 26, 2001 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

Misery   Leave a comment

Not going to write anything today. Too miserable. Nobody reads it anyway.

Posted October 23, 2001 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

The gutless diarist's excuses…   Leave a comment

The more perceptive among you may have noticed that I sometimes make little alterations to the dairy after it has first been published, so that the diary that you read on Wednesday might be subtly changed by Thursday. I usually decide that a tweak of emphasis is necessary because I have said something that is unclear and might have been put better, or something that I realise I do not stand by, or something that is too personal, or something that might offend. I’m sorry if it seems a bit gutless to do this, but I should point out that these errors of judgement are often associated with the use alcohol, and yet there are occasions when I am sober. By and large I try to leave things as they are, but sometimes I just think that I’ve gone too far. I’m sure the diary will be judged a success when I receive my first punch in the face as a result of it, although perhaps not by me. Anyway, all the more reason to read up on a daily basis, just in case I remove something juicy later on. Not that there’s an excess of juice for Christ’s sake! Obviously it’s mainly charity shops and what I’ve bought from them and so on. But just so you know.

Posted October 22, 2001 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

After the pub at No.2   Leave a comment

Heavy rain. Strong tea. Room-bound and faffing. Critical-mass stage again in my living-quarters. The level of junk is such that it requires constant tidying to be able to cross the room at all. I have to take long but careful strides from one clear patch of carpet to the next. When people come in they invariably end up standing on a record sleeve or a magazine or a guitar lead, and although I get exasperated have no right to blame them. It is a madman’s room, and it’s doing my head in.

Christ, Friday night after the pub. Tom doing New Model Army tunes on the acoustic while this self-confessed “metaller” girl embellishes his lyrics after him with extra female soul. I’m getting more and more of The Fear with every passing joint, as is the stranger to my right, whose interjections are becoming increasingly off-the-wall and defensive. Of course I remain trapped for ages, enduring a thousand psychical bludgeonings (like Richard Rippin trying get me to sing along, like the embarrassment level in the room wasn’t high enough anyway) before a chance to escape appears when Richard and Hamish leave. The three of us stand up, as does schizz-boy, who explains that he’d rather stand than be in our shadow. After some twenty minutes in this pointless position I stumble awkwardly out the back door, bidding farewell to every single person through the clenched teeth of barely-held-in madness. Back at mine it takes about an hour of Audiomulch before my heart-rate is slow enough to contemplate sleep at Sam’s, above which, predictably enough, Frank is watching some Hollywood shoot-em-up through his fuckingly effective studio speakers. Another brilliant night out.

Posted October 21, 2001 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

The CD-bird   Leave a comment

Dreamt…something about a tiger…
Might have been underwater, only partially visible. Big paws fleetingly visible in the foam. Can’t remember if the tiger was attacking us or if we were trying to save it.

Then I was in a town square and somehow I’d got a pigeon on a rope, like a lead. The strength of the bird was such that as it tried to fly away I was lifted up several feet off the ground. I intuited that this might somehow be good for my pop career and was asking desperately if anyone had a camcorder. Somebody appeared with a camera but I don’t think we got a shot. This led into a part of the dream about a smaller bird, which was ailing in some way. I think its condition was in some way my fault. Gradually the bird became more and more lifeless until it turned into a blue CD. I took it outside into the conservatory in the hope that it would fare better away from my influence. Anxiously I peered through the window to check on its fate. Eventually the edges of the CD seemed to turn up and change colour, and become more organic in appearance. Then I noticed that the plant on the table next to the CD-bird was swarming with ants, and they were eating the CD.

Seems altogether too fucking allegorical in the cold light of day.

Posted October 21, 2001 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized