Saturday, 15th July, 2017.
Leaving Staines station. Champagne supernova shuffles on. It’s a tough song. I can never work out if it makes me feel melancholy or optimistic.
I was pretty drunk by the time I got home, after all that free beer. I’m begging that there will be some positive news next week. Just an opportunity to bid on some houses would be great. End this Fucking limbo.
One more cigarette won’t kill me.
“in despair or incoherence, nothing inbetween” – Garvey.
Ok. Better. I’d forgotten I hadn’t had any coffee. What an eejit! As predicted, I’m the first one here. Sitting in Nero’s, on Brewer Street, W1.
There I am. Look! Just sitting there. What an arse.
The day was too uneventful to document. We finished the job. We struggled through Saturday tubes to get home. I had a look at a very expensive(and giant!) book of Rankin photos.
The White Stripes.
Girls with ball in mouth and plastic bag. That’s art, that is.
Anyway, I’m home now. Dirty, tired but home. No work Monday AGAIN!!!!
Sunday, 16th July, 2017.
I seem to have lost 22 hours? It must have been the drugs and alcohol. I just had a mini fry up and now I’m drinking a Bloody Mary and listening to Guy Garvey on BBC 6. I don’t think I can muster much else. I keep looking at the two acoustics I have next to my bed bit I just can’t move.
“these days I seem to think a lot, about the things I forgot to do.” – Nico
Monday, 17th July, 2017.
Holy shit! Where did the rest of yesterday go? I remember going round Caroline’s to collect Louis. We watched a few episodes of The Mist, then BOOM! It was Monday. I must have been Fucking tired.
So, here we are. No work again. No motivation. Pfft.
Bloody hell. How dire! Chatting with my boss about the new health and safety regime and the fact, he has no work confirmed until Friday, is not conducive of positivity. I’ll have to put my thinking cap on. Saying that, I know he will bend over backwards trying to find us something.
P.S. It’s great having kids. The conversation is riveting!?!
Just got home. Now I need to go back to town as a game disk, my son bought, isn’t working. Tut.
The Old Red Lion.
I’m just having a quick pint of the black stuff, before heading over to Claire Hags house. I promised a little cabling favour.
I have watched Game Of Thrones season start. Less tits, more tourettes. Leave the acting to actors Sheeran! That’s all I have to say about it.
No word from the boss, so no work again. As much as I like being a bum, without creative motivation, I’d rather work.
“Warm, humid, sticky contemplation. As well as anyone can. It’s hard to make sense of anything when, everything, has been so disjointed. No consistency except for the staples. If in doubt, rely on alcohol.”