What about this weather, eh?   Leave a comment

Damn! Hands almost too cold to type. Fuck this less than zero shit. Yesterday on the till was like some sort of survival training, which also involved selling lots of dried fruit just to mess with your head. This one customer (who doesn’t seem to have a sense of humour but stumbled across a piece of genius funniness in his brain by accident) suggested that now that the fireman were back at work the armed forces could take over the running of Arjuna over Christmas, so that the workers could have a break. I just have this image in my head of a guy in camouflage barking: “Corporal! Show this lady where the vegan fruitcake is!” Incidentally, I’m planning to write a short play about a vegetarian wholefood shop where people keep coming in and asking for vegan fruitcake (they don’t do this in Arjuna, but they will in the play).

Visions on Mill Road…

Rob had a vision this morning where Wasserman (“Wazzer…wazzer…”) was suddenly hit by a rocket launcher. That’s too many computer games, I reckon.

I had a vision where Aggressive Beggar Girl (I’m trying to be as offensive as possible in the context of this vision) is getting married in a perfect setting and is as happy as can be. White dress, summer’s day, lovely little church, proud parents…she’s so happy and in love…

You know the woman. Tall, ponytailed, acts a bit pathetic to start with and then gets visibly livid when you don’t cough up. I’m sure I saw her sucking from her can with a straw the other day in town…something wrong with her teeth? I used to actively dislike her because she tried to bully me into giving her some money once when I was on a payphone (trying to explain something very quickly to Sam, who was oblivious to my neurotic urgency, so the phone ate my money and I got fucked off with ABG).
I was like: (To Sam)
“Look…people are trying to get money off me…(dialling tone)…oh for fuck’s sake!”
ABG: “What did you call me? Don’t call me a fucking beggar!”
Me: “I didn’t…I called you…a person…”
ABG: “…”

So yeah, I went around hating her for a while and then I realized my hate had degenerated into pity, and I think that’s where my vision came from. They say that pity is worse than hatred and I think I see what that means now.

This next bit should really be in the little moments section but I’m sure nobody checks that anymore.

The other day I was staring out into the street from within the shop and I saw this busload of posh little schoolgirls who were probably older than 11 but younger than 15 go past in a school van that said something like “The Venerable Bede’s School For Girls”, and this street drinker dude with a blanket round his shoulders made a full-on obscene gesture at them. He had his back to me but you could tell what he was doing. I looked up at the girls and there was a uniform expression of delight on every face, and one of the older looking ones managed to give him the finger before they passed, looking as pleased as punch to have the opportunity to do so.

Yesterday was like:

Freeze arse of all day in shop.
Closing shop duties rushed through as fast as poss., in order to facilitate the creation of free time in order to sort out decks for the Rock Promoter Simon Baker, and be with small son.
Got home, delivered food to caned people at No.6 as is traditional.
Ecstasy of unplugging, untangling and hefting Technics about, also involving much tragic-comic slapstick with regards to the fact that everyone in the world and his brother, (plus my brother) needs to borrow my keys at the moment, so I am forever standing in front of my bike/ my room door, Sam’s backdoor, my backdoor, the Arjuna front door, livid because I am denied access or use or whatever. Also moving big boxes about through my house is like some sort of grown-up version of a toy designed to help child development that features lots of different shapes and lots of different holes because the stairwell is partially blocked by Rob’s Australia tat and my room is overflowing with any number and variety of pieces of random crap because I am insane or insecure or something.
Phoned Simon to tell him decks were ready and the small window of opportunity timewise about which we had previously spoke was now open. Got wrong number and spoke briefly to cretin who answers the phone by going: “Yi!” Then got messaging service and explained the whole lot and more very fast.
Then got call from Simon, who said: “It’s sorted…”. What? Didn’t you get my message?”
Then burst into tears of rage and experienced very strong desire to fall heavily off the wagon. Then did all the hefting and so on in reverse.

Anyway, if I don’t get a chance to do some UM shit soon I’m going to go properly mental, d’ya hear?

Posted December 11, 2002 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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