December 17 (Friday): Dream: I am at the Arts Centre and it is summer. The place looks how it did back in the day when Gringo started out and Hirameka played their first gigs there. Today however, NIRVANA are playing there! And it is Sub Pop Nirvana, a sparse show of shitty ratty equipment but sounding fucking awesome despite this. The only person I recognise there is Emma and I wind up hugging and snogging her. What????

After the last night/early hours, I wake up late at 10AM, pretty bad for me as I never lie in usually and currently, in my state of unemployment, I do not feel I deserve to be so lazy.

I get up to check my phone and the text message inbox on my mobile is full and showing a message waiting. This is without doubt a reply from Sara to my 3AM text this morning replying to her 2.30AM text (night owls). I make space in the inbox for the text and wait with baited breath.

Today my sole intention is to get to my parents and show my face, hopefully getting a lot of writing done in the process (they have a computer desk which makes writing a lot more comfortable and fruitful than just bending my back over at the end of my bed). I pull my shit together but it takes an eternity to get myself together, I was hoping to get to Holland almost first thing but the way things are moving today, I’ll be fortunate to get there before supper.

I have my tunes on Media Player on random and mid morning up pops Grounded by Pavement. Wow; “doctor’s leaving for the holiday system”, in some ways for me (perverse way) this is the most holiday/Christmas record going. This used to be my soundtrack in 1995 when I was living in Walton, working in Clacton and driving up to Colchester for shops. Wowee Zowee was the record that was playing in my cassette deck when I smashed my first car up a week before Christmas in 1995. The track playing upon impact was Father To A Sister Of Thought, which pretty much mentally scarred/scared me away from listening to that record again for several years.

Lunchtime arrives and with it, today’s Cheers re-run. And this episode is extra freaky as it features a cameo from John Kerry (yup, the loser John Kerry) at the beginning of the show. All through the election I found myself thinking how much John Kerry looked like Ted Danson and there here he is (ten years ago) making an appearance on his show. Freaky.

I watch Ed (more daytime TV I now find myself addicted to) and I fly home for a weekend visit (just as Acton is trying to contact/get me on MSN). I was originally intending/supposed to arrive at home pretty swiftly this morning but instead I wind up arriving closer to 3PM. And when I arrive, mum blatantly in a fucking hump/mood. Great, I love a house with an atmosphere.

I go to computer and come across a rough draft of a letter dad is sending to his “employer”, some Mickey Mouse outfit. It reads really badly and only continues on the current bad feelings vibe that Dad is having towards the family members that he works with. He should have asked me to help out on the letter methinks. Maybe Dad has been watching The Sopranos too much and taking it too seriously. My bad.

Regardless, fortunately/luckily I get into writing and actually find myself being productive as I hide away in the room with the computer to avoid the feuding partners (although fortunately Dad is out at my cousin’s house helping out and Mum is getting her hairdo do done). When Dad finally comes in, he is a right miserable cunt. The pair of us sit down to dinner and it is absolutely excruciating, all eaten/done in next to silence.

My aunt calls around at the house to drop off Christmas cards etc and I finally have my second card of the season. She however does not ring the door bell to speak or anything, so I suspect there is another relative I have pissed off. When I pick up the cards there is also a video cassette of the X-Factor final, someone somewhere in my family must enjoy this shit. Sadly however the label on the video reads “X-Facture”. Ouch.

My phone beeps and finally it is the text arriving from Haslett (Sara) from this morning. It reads: “Money money. I was right. After all you so wrongly called me its a well deserved PRICK for you.” What? She was right? Right about? I dunno but unfortunately I was also right in thinking she would not turn up after everyone who I told about the show were also proved right when they said she would not turn up/go, and after all the defending of her I did in disagreeing with them. I don’t know about being a prick but definitely a chump.

Mum comes in a little later with hair job done and as per usual it looks silly and hilarious. She tells/informs me now that they do not have to pay the tax credit £7,000 immediately, something I had been really worrying about. Whatever.

The evening happens with Dad tucked/hiding away in the front room watching football. At 9.30 the new Little Britain comes on and I find myself having to watch it in the kitchen. This is the episode with the Mr T lookalike who is oblivious to the existence of Mr T in the first place. It is funny as fuck and I think my laughing at it pisses off the old man as he probably thinks that mum and I are having a laugh at him. See, paranoia runs in my family.

Tonight once more I have to sleep on the sofa, which is something (as I’ve said before) I am no longer capable of doing. And because the olds are arguing over the dog, I get the little fucker sleeping in the front room with me. It starts off well as he tucks up with me on the sofa but when I wake up around 2AM and I have accidentally left the TV on watching Monday Night Raw, the dog decides he is too hot for the sofa and jumps on the floor whining like fuck, wanting to be sleeping elsewhere. I have to mess about with him to shut him and it takes an eternity to get him settled into his basket but eventually around 4AM, I manage to do so. Can’t sleep.

np: Pavement - Grounded