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So anyway…

A week of horrendous shit involving Syd having a febrile convulsion and doing an awfully good impression of an infant dying, subsequent hospitalisation and sleeplessness and worry and all that shit. Also got told that I haven’t got that driving job (didn’t learn to drive, oops), then lost my semi-beloved 2hrs-a-day job due to the fact that I was pointless, or something. Then Syd came back from hospital and started throwing up everywhere (the antibiotics). Then I did my back in and then I had a 24hr stomach bug. Funnily the whole time I couldn’t get away from images/sounds/arrogant cuntism of Jay Kay from Jamiroquai. Even today there were these two geezers in Andy’s records discussing the relative merits of buying the “Cosmic Girl” e.p or the album from which it is taken. One of these chaps was doing an unwitting and faultless impression of the annoying young guy from The Office (Gareth?). The two of them had one of those idiot boy-child relationships where they obviously hated each other and were constantly trying to get one over on the other but were trapped within each other’s orbit by their shared knobbishness. They both kept calling each other “mate” in a supposedly humorous way, which wasn’t funny. Anyway, Jay Kay is a prick of the highest yet smallest order, and a representative of Satan also.

Ridiculous day today involving early morning childcare fun, then extreme dole hassle. And then lots of ridiculous charity shop fetish ritual. This was the week me and Martin (my New Deal advisor) had agreed that I would sign off and get us both out of each other’s hairs. Unfortunately of course I’ve lost my beguilingly part-time job in the meantime so he’s now free to threaten me with hideous full-time jobs of the most horrendously unfulfilling kind. My secret weapon was a letter from my virtually former office manager saying that they might have some work for me in a month or so, but I decided to hold back the letter until properly necessary. I have another week’s grace anyway. From the dole I toured the chazzers of Burleigh Street, and in Oxfam God made a humorous little joke by placing in front of me the second pair of quality hi-fi speakers (Celestion) that I have been forced to purchase from a charity shop in one week, just because I have the affliction. I was going to walk up the road to the bank and try and calm down and evaluate but this other geezer was already feeling them up and removing the dust covers with a practised air, so I pretended not to see him and strode up to the counter and announced that I would like to buy them. I had no way of carrying them home (huge, heavy things) and I daren’t ask Sam for a second lift to buy pointless hi-fi speakers when I am so jobless and poor and transparently insane already. I ended up sneaking Syd’s pushchair from nursery (feeling like I would be challenged for nicking it at any second) and doing a brisk 45-minute round trip between home, nursery and Oxfam, with barely enough time to get to RSPCA and check if they’d priced up the records I had spied in a box by the desk the other day and tentatively earmarked for myself in a commitment-free way. Unfortunately geezer was therefore duty-bound to do his best for the animals and get what he could for them. It’s not like I really need a copy of Shamal by Gong but I was gutted that he wanted £8.
Still, fuck it and the rest of yuz ‘cos I got:

Mindif – Dollar Brand
Water From An Ancient Well – Abdullah Ibrahim
Cumbia Cumbia – Colombian Music Collection
Serie Vibracion Latina – Cuban Music
Anda Ven Y Muevete – Orquesta Los Van Van
First, Second and Third Generation Of Dub – King Tubby, Prince Jammy & Scientist

I left some shit behind because I didn’t know too much about it, or it was too dear. Now I’m wondering…

Only just got to work to time after all that too.

I now have 3 pairs of powerful speakers and a pair of studio monitors all wired for simultaneous audio-input and if I turn up all the various dials my room shakes, which is pretty cool considering it’s a carpeted concrete box stuffed full of sound-absorbing junk, but still less so if you dwell nearby.

Fuck! Did you hear about Dave Gwei-Lo ordering a single Technics SL 1210 and getting two delivered? I’m only just beginning to master my envy. This is the second time something like this has happened to him, and it’s not as though he’s the sort of guy who’s always trying to squeeze a little extra out of a situation…

Here’s some stuff I wrote a while ago after I went to Brighton for a night out a month or so ago:

Back once again from the ill behaviour in Brighton over the weekend. Tuesday night and my serotonin levels are creeping back to what passes fro normal. The trip to B-Right-On was a sort of present to me from Sam in return for a heap of childcare at Christmas whilst she sat some sort of Nazi exams, so I had one night off to get mentalistic in a Cinderella (not the band) style. Can’t give you any details because they’re watching me (that’s you that is) but it was me and Guy, Carl Mushroom, DJ Todd, his girlfriend Electra and her mum Frankie and we spent most of the evening driving around and failing to get into clubs and parties, and then having one back at theirs. Electra has a purse that looks like pants and Todd is a brilliant DJ (he was doing this thing with Fela Kuti and some funky-assed other thing, all nudging it back into the beat, swaying around like a big sensuous proletarian confused artistic motherfucker, and making me feel like Emma B) with a distinctive parenting style. I feel a bit less something now. Shit, that’s details.
The funny thing about the night, if you call being stranded without alcohol funny, was that I spent the first part of the evening trying not to get pissed in case I got called up for the England (Drinking) Squad later on, and then suddenly finding there was no clubs or parties and that it was bloody cups of tea all night. Given how I felt the next day, it was all for the good in the end. The trip back was a kind of rerun of a trip back from Brighton I had about three years ago when I stayed up all night and then had to crawl to the a station in the morning with my mind in my cupped hands, gibbering like Gollum. Point of information: everyone in the world is reading Lord Of The Rings on the trains (maybe something to do with the state of the trains at the moment, when only works of more than 1000 pages are of any use, plus the film is out of course). There was even a copy on the floor at the house where I stayed, so I felt kind of pursued by Tolkein. Thank fuck I refused the mushrooms. On that day (three years ago) the zenith of my ugly comedown horror was when I almost physically collided with Chris Eubank, looking sharply dressed as ever, in sharp contrast to my distressed appearance) at Victoria Station. On Sunday I kept myself together with the thought of a cool pint of lager at Kings Cross, but I almost fell apart when this junkie geezer accosted me outside King’s Cross – “Can you spare us some change mate, they’re going to cut me leg off!” His rolled-up trouser leg revealed a couple of huge, hollow abscesses in a reddened and puffy limb. I went and bought a burger and a couple of beers (one dragon stout, one nasty lager), and then had to run for my train, missing it and almost dying in the attempt, every cell in my body screaming with pain. Got back, ate food, drank wine, went out to the Sandpaper Sessions at King’s College, drank lager and tequila.

Posted March 3, 2002 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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