December 21 (Tuesday): Dream: having gone to sleep last night watching Death Of A Salesman, in my dream today Dad replaces Willy Loman. Its sad and depressing.

I wake up around 8.30 having had the best night’s sleep in days (but do not let this mislead you as being sufficient/acceptable). Today though, I awaken with a mission and within in minutes I have pulled my shit and myself together and I am flying into town to face the inevitability of the remainder of Christmas shopping. Mum has finally put in her request for a present and it is for a set of scales. She is the thinnest person in our family by a long straw, why the fuck does she need yet another(!) set of scales? I guess it’s a women thing (sexism ahoy).

Luckily town doesn’t turn out to be too much hard work, I buy myself a newspaper and face up to my fears: purchasing Christmas gifts in Argos (generally the busiest store in this season). No fears though, it all works out fine until the box for the scales arrive of course and it is as big as a house (well, a dolls house). I heave it back to my car, next to hyperventilating on the way; Christmas shopping eventually gets one over on me for the day.

I head over the Tesco Hythe to buy groceries and survival goods. It’s a good run around the supermarket, brief and successful until I get home and open my shopping bags to reveal I have just bought only cereal and drinks. God, I am just like that guy who used to be on the Fast Show who would go out for groceries and go “better than that” to reveal having purchased a wheelbarrow tyre or something. When I paid for my goods the woman at the checkout asks “do you have a club card?”. I refrained from the natural answer of “do I fucking look like I have a club card?” by instead shacking my head and she goes “yeah, you don’t want them to know what you are eating” to which I respond heartily: “unhealthily”. We both laugh and suddenly it smacks me; I am now making small talk with shop assistants; I’m changing.

When I return home I have an email from the BBC awaiting me and a woman there interested in my story about being sacked from my job for my blog. Crikey.

I write all afternoon with brief interludes of MSN with Richard and Tom. By late afternoon however I find myself listening to old Ricky Gervais XFM radio show MP3s and I am laughing out loud at them weeping. I cannot recommend these enough, they are so funny, they work for me every time.

Tea time arrives and I have the munches on. I look at my groceries and quite frankly, what I bought was fucking pathetic, the sort of stuff a small child (or chimp) with a credit card would buy for dinner. Instead I head out to the Shrub End chip shop. As I drive through the hood (as rough as it apparently is) I see not one but two Griswold-esqe houses caked in Christmas lights putting the rest of the area to shame. Fancy pants. And in such a part of Colchester where you really wouldn’t expect such a gesture. Purchasing chips in this chip shop proves painful, god these people unhappy in their work (almost as unhappy as I was). I take forever to just get a bag of fucking chips cooked! I suspect this may be a village chip shop for village people.

The evening is spent watching Bottle Rocket which I have just downloaded off Soulseek. It is a horrible disappointment, possessing funny moments and ideas but no real story or cohesion, ultimately looking like a really bad attempt at a Coen Brothers movie (mainly Raising Arizona without the kids).

Tonight also turns out to be the evening that I discover Neil Hamburger. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing is yet to be decided (by I do immediately jump in with the Tony Clifton comparison).

Mum phones again, suggesting that we meet up in town tomorrow so that I can get a new coat for my Christmas gift. Thing is, I’ve looked in town (Sunday) and there are none but she is insistent and if she is there when I find one (if) she’ll be paying, so very reluctantly I agree to meet up, to appease her (as she is the cash cow after all).

I spend the remainder of the evening putting together my English class notes and organising my file while the Teachers Christmas Special is on in the background and the truly repulsive Bob (my destiny?) finally gets around to marrying the intriguing (ew!) Ping.

Late evening and Phoebe Luk Canada pops up for the first time in ages. We catch and all seems well, her once more talking way too much sense for someone her age. She rules the world.

For the remainder of the night, I am awake without a nervous disposition after drinking a double (hell) shot of Rocket Fuel coffee all with the intention of staying awake to see some indie film in early hours on Channel Four. The film is called You Can Count On Me and features Mark Ruffalo (for indie cred it seems) but it hardly proves worthwhile. Sucker.

It is a return to sleep depravation tonight as I lie awake worrying about my future (career and financial), failing to sleep until 6AM again. I’ll be a bear with a sore head again tomorrow.

np: Faith No More – Edge Of The World