November 20 (Saturday): Please Do Not Disturb. This morning I wake up completely frozen, winter has arrived in abounds. It’s another early start, I find myself waking up at 6AM on a Saturday morning. There is something so horribly wrong with that.

The early start however sees me getting a good parking space, getting a really early and unbusy train and basically I get into the city the earliest I have of all my study days. And joy, its Saturday; newspaper day! As with the rest of the plan, I arrive in King’s Cross the earliest I have all week and it is almost deserted compared to the previous day, almost like stepping into a scene from 28 Days Later. Of course, this brings with it the first abuse/grief I receive from a native when some skag cow snaps at me “what you looking at” when I didn’t think either of us were looking in the same direction. I guess that’s the time delay of the heroin kicking in (not that I would know of course).

Today, my course has now reached epic proportions. All hope of studying and passing the subject in a convention sense have been thrown to the wind as you could say I have reached crisis stage with the course; but let’s not fully panic just yet.

The day starts off suspiciously however when I see my name on the register and it has been circled/marked strangely, as if I have been singled out for something. Paranoia kicks in and I point it out to Phoebe who stares at it like a dog just shown a card trick.

The morning happens and the first question sees me zoning out completely, no attention in me today. However, I do get up to go to the toilet shortly after the ladyboy does in order to see what sex/toilet the person is into. When I get to the men’s bathroom, it is deserted. I guess the person is a she then.

Later, during a question I find myself unable to do (as I can’t be arsed, if I’m honest), I find myself writing notes for a sitcom screenplay and it is at this point, born again, I find myself having an epiphany as, unable to concentrate on the actual task (my real work) at hand, I realise I have turned into David Brent writing his gameshow “Upstairs Downstairs”. AND YET THIS REALISATION STILL DOES NOT STOP ME!

By the afternoon, I find myself thoroughly cheesed and disheartened. Richard Acton texts me to see what I am up to after the course and I tell him that I think I’ll be heading to Charing Cross (to look at Hunter S. Thompson books). Initially he shows some interest in hanging out but I soon dissuade him, explaining just how down and depressed about the course I am.

The classroom takes on new forms and shapes for me this afternoon, after three days of the hardest subject, I feel battered and bruised and the most jaded fuck you could ever hope to meet. I look around and see an Asian in one of those German army coats Mod’s wear. Is he Taliban? By the end of the course, it is poor everyone, everyone looks disillusioned with it all, not only me. The tutor throws in the towel before 4PM (“it is a Saturday afternoon and you’re not listening”).

I leave the class and course, saying goodbye to Phoebe, colder than cold, colder than ever, a gesture which I feel reciprocates her, only going one better.

Originally, as I said, I intended to head to Charing Cross Road but upon attempting the Northern Lane, it is mangled beyond mangled. I throw the towel in on that suggestion also opting, after being stalked by an Asian for a bit, to just head back to Liverpool Street and the safety of my flat back in Colchester.

One good thing, leaving at this time, I do manage to avoid all the football traffic/passengers and get some peace on my train ride home, reading more Hunter S. Thompson.

When I get home, it is the greatest relief. Upon arrival home I do fuck all and I crack open Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas and find myself absolutely shocked at the level of language (not the violence) in/on the game. I have to admit, I play the game for about two hours and I just don’t see it, I don’t see the hype surrounding it. The game does indeed look fantastic but the playability of it doesn’t, for me, step up or improve on Grand Theft Auto III. Hopefully with time though, I’ll prove myself wrong.

Tonight, I am exhausted and probably find myself asleep by 9AM. This should not be.

np: Royal Trux - Stevie