Weekly overview for week commencing 11 September 2000
It's Friday afternoon, I'm way too hungover to be able to program the coffee machine let alone do anything productive so I thought I write some garbage to you. Well, as I may have mentioned, me & Gez decided to get divorced. Well, if I were to be more specific, I decided and she wasn't very impressed. Unfortunately going from a happy live-in wife scenrio to a live-in demoness did prove problematic. During the week between delivering the message and asking for the front door key Gez and I began inventing new games to play within the flat. It transpires that Gez was particular adept at 'throw the plate at Kev's head' in which two players stand 5 foot apart, one adopts a menacing plate holding javelin stance whilst the other takes cover. Marks are awarded to the thrower for a direct hit to the head, whilst marks are awarded to the receiver for style and agility in plate dodging. I won't explain the rules to another game called 'Pin the claw hammer on Kev's nuts' for fear of flashbacks.
Anyway, life has now settled and I have just spent the first few nights alone in the flat. Living by oneself is indeed a liberating feeling. After an initial tidy up, I have now discovered new topics which never before realised required regular re-organisation. I am willing to bet good money that I am the owner of the most functional and aesthetic saucepan cupboard in Sussex.
However, last night on a routine clean of the hot water tank I started to think if I was not careful, that this could start to become an obsession and after the tea towels were ironed I retired to the lounge to relax in front of the telly. In fact, relax is probably on the generous side as adjectives go. Part of the cost cutting program due to the departure of said Gez included declaring to the BBC that I did not need a television license since I do not own a television. Strictly speaking this is true although I do happen to have a television in my flat. Mental note to check my legal position to see if I have discovered a loop-hole but I suspect not. To continue, from the lounge window I could see a white transit parked outside with a suspiciously radar looking device mounted on top. Before settling down I went outside to see if I could casually detect any scanning activity to confirm that I was indeed being watched. I was stressed to discover that the van had pre-empted this by cunningly attempting to disguise itself using a sign displaying 'Roger's Fresh Meat'. Now in the knowledge that I was dealing with professionals I decided to be selective in my evening's viewing only watching the very essential of programs. Luckily a quick surf of teletext told me there was very little watchable choice tonight, but Top Gear was just about to start, followed by 4 hours of garbage before Big Brother.
I opened a beer and made myself comfortable on the thin metal window ledge so as to keep an eye on my new detector inspector friends. Four hours later I realised I had just consumed Top Gear; Vets in Practice; Airport; Home Front (Garden Special) and documentary which looked at the how women and nature were depicted in art and science during the 18th century (Channel 4 naturally); and 4 cans of Fosters. By this point I was almost ready to knock on the van door and ask them to justify the ordasicity to actually sell a license to be able to watch this shite. However, Big Brother was now starting so I didn't.
Feeling less sure of my footing than I had when surfing teletext I couldn't decide whether to go out or not. I flipped a coin to decide the rest of my evening and 20 minutes later was standing in a nightclub bearing a Stella and a tequila slammer.
Soon I was back in my flat but this time joined by Scott, Rosie and Jeanette. My new friends as of about midnight.