Saturday, 7 March 2009

The time that the folks at blogger will have stamped at the end of this will probably be completely different, but I assure you that right now it's 16:06 on Saturday evening and there's some shit tennis on the telly. It's better than the god-awful horse racing on the other channel, but not by much. Anyway, right now I'm trying to waste an hour or two before I can head off to my little studio space to a) have a good sort out, and b) get cracking on something new. Well, I say 'new' but it's actually an idea I had about 9 months ago but never got around to trying out. Maybe because it was crap. I can confirm that it evolved from one of the crappest ideas ever. I actually wasted three weeks of my life producing 24 of them. Very embarrassing. I'm not bothered about the wasting of life though - I've wasted plenty more of that since then - but I just cringe at the thought of the work... and the moment when I suddenly woke up and realised that it was utter, utter wank & that everything was in danger of falling apart. So, the studio; I haven't used it much of late, and today's the day that I grab the wheel again. Not that I'm heading for the a ditch or anything... oh no, no, no... it's 'cause I'm smack-bloody-bang right in the middle of it and I need to get out. The work with Charlie is certainly happening, but it's causing a few problems. Boring stuff really... things that are out of our control what with work and all that. The stuff that we do get done always leaves me with more ideas about how to refine and improve - but then the time's gone, and you have to wait weeks before you can pick up where you left off. And in that time you've picked it over & apart so much in your head that you're sick of it, and you dismiss it as crap. It would be great to have the freedom of an excess of time again... although I must confess that I'm kinda happy to have a job at a time like this... and certainly one that I don't dislike.

16:32 now. It really took me that long to write all that. I want to write even more but I keep on having to stop and go back, removing words, replacing them, adding comma's, then reading through it again and feeling that I have to take them away because it's nothing like what I hear in my head. It's just mess. I need to stop all this editing - it's just too much. I end up removing everything I want to write and only leaving the hollow piss-poor attempts at jokes. God, it's getting depressing in here! (ha, exclamation marks always - ALWAYS!!! - lift the mood.)

Went to buy some wood today from B&Q. Managed to get a lift from my dad as my car's too small for wood. We had to wait ages for the timbre cutter operator to show up because he was on his lunch. Dad seemed to be coping alright at first and, after five minutes or so, I said that it must be a good sandwich he's having. It was a nice little bit of chit-chat. Not really necessary but I thought I'd keep the jovial mood bubbling away. He started to become a little restless when the five minutes turned into ten, so I joked that he must be having two sandwiches... or, even worse, a roll. Dad didn't find this one amusing on any level, even though the delivery was good. Then another bloke turns up and he's huffing and puffing, so my dad starts huffing and puffing too. They're both huffing and puffing together and pressing the little button thing on the counter. As soon as one stopped the other would give it another go. This other guy looks like a bit of a wood man - I imagine he dealt with wood and hammers and things like that quite often... so, naturally, they develop this little bond. Whilst this is happening, two calls go out over the tannoy for the wood cutter guy and eventually he shows up. He looks a little pissed off - after all, his lunch has been rushed. I'm feeling awkward about the whole situation and just ask that the wood be cut into 8 pieces. I thought it was fairly obvious what I wanted and he clearly knew. I knew that he knew exactly what I meant by the way that he gestured the cuts with his hands. But then, as he was cutting, he started asking a load of questions - and quoting measurements. I didn't have a clue what was going on - I was caught totally off-guard by this quickfire quiz that I'd stumbled into. He was a bit of an arse with me. Maybe he thought I was the person with their fingers all over his little button. I felt like saying that I didn't know that I needed a degree in all things wood in order to buy it. Of course, I didn't... and my dad made me feel like a complete idiot by siding with the wood cutting arse and questioning whether "that's what you want" and "if it isn't, then say so" - even though he knew full well that it was what I wanted as we'd spent the last half an hour going on about it. It's funny, that. They recognise their own. The whole thing really annoyed me. Wood cutter guy knew what I wanted right from the start. But he saw his opportunity and he took it, and he did it in such a petty way too... but I knew... I knew exactly what was going on. It was textbook stuff... it was the very same way that I would go about mocking customers when I was at Sainsbury's. I recognised it right away... and there was nothing I could do about it. It was karma. And he had a fucking beard.

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