January 17 (Monday): Huddle Formation. Monday morning downer, I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go. I’m up at 6.40 after disturbing dreams and almost immediately I find myself checking the internet for work in a panic. According to online, it is a really dry season, even more so than pre-Christmas which only makes me feel more alarmed than ever. And the fact that I may be competing for jobs now after being out of work several months I feel will stand me at a disadvantage in any upcoming applications. Bad times.

I spend the morning split between writing and applying to bad jobs on the internet just to stay alive and in the mind/consciousness of the agency personnel. However splitting my attention to the two only equates to my doing a half arsed job of both (I would suspect).

Lunch arrives and at 12.30 the movie The Arsenal Stadium Mystery comes on Channel Four. I have seen this film before and it is unbelievably fantastic. The film is from 1940 and stars the Arsenal team of that year as they play a team of amateurs (amateurs!) who unfortunately, despite being very sporting and skilled, have a player die on them on the pitch in the second half. And it was murder! The game gets abandoned and then during the replay the following Wednesday afternoon (and swift re-arrangement the FA seem incapable of today) the local plod detective goes through the motions and catches the bugger who murdered the chap (his teammate?). Unlike today however, no one suspects the Arsenal players of doing any wrong; and rightfully so. Today however, things in football are different. Personally I think in order to learn some manners and etiquette, Arsene Wenger should be forced to watch this movie every single day of his life.

With that out of the way, I head over to the East Hill gates post office and then onto Tesco Hythe for my first food of the day (and a food shop under £5). As I enter the superstore, all I can smell are hot cross buns. The odour is encapsulating and fishes me right in as when I see the two for one offer (“toofer”) I snap them up immediately when I really do not need or really desire them. I’m a slave to consumerism.

As I drive home up Hythe my phone rings and it is a lady from Reed in Cambridge. Fantastic! I do the right thing though and tell her that I am driving and request that she please call me back when I get home. I get in and do stuff and eventually (about an hour later) she phones back. She tells how an opportunity has arisen with a large corporate in Bury St Edmunds (“is it Greene King? I know it is but would you just please tell me”). I mention that I had just been up there last night but not that it was a real trek in my opinion. This woman isn’t overly clued up though, she doesn’t even know/realise that I lost my job. And unfortunately when I tell that, almost immediately she seems to lose interest in me; I am damaged goods. From here my morale drops to the bottom as it all begins to feel like too much hard work for what are really generally run of the mill jobs (these are not exec positions).

My mood lowers and in an attempt to lift it out of the funk, I watch The Rutles movie which I am in the process of getting from Soulseek. This film gets better with each time as, with more experience and savvy, the references get clearer and more recognisable by the day. Cheese and onions.

Pathetically, after last night’s late night, I find myself falling asleep in late afternoon amd when I wake up, it is one of those depressing “disco” sleeps that Daniel Kitson was referring to in his set Saturday. When I come around I begin reading Hell’s Angels by Hunter S. Thompson before the Simpsons comes on and saves the day, proving that all is right with the world while I discover that over the course of the afternoon I have eaten six hot cross buns. Fat bloater.

My eventful evening has a kind of resignation air/feel to it as I put on the Biggie And Tupac DVD I bought in the Christmas sales, realising that I never really wanted to see/watch it in the first place. Naturally, again I fall asleep watching the turkey, disrespecting my homies in the process.

When I come around, Celebrity Big Brother is on and Bez is losing it fast. These are the signs of a dope fiend having withdrawal symptoms. These and semen stains on his trousers from too much jacking off. It looks like the leopard is revealing his spots now with his antisocial tendencies and he’s bound to be the next person to get voted off/out (whenever that will be) just because he is now just plain weird, strange and scary. And those eyes! Don’t they just scream: “I want to do bad things to you”.

And this isn’t even the big event on Celebrity Big Brother tonight as John McCirick (what his name is) gets voted off unsurprisingly. This guy has the worst persecution complex in history; I thought I hated myself! He did say some mildly amusing things but ultimately Mr Hate Pants is from a different planet (something that has been noticeable for years from his basic clothing taste). At least however he did say stuff that was mildly amusing and upset/insulted people (especially the little cocksure school boy wannabe rapper).

From there my night ends with me sailing the day out watching ER followed by Men Behaving Badly (this show still cuts it). I find myself having to sleep with my window open because the flat is just SO hot/warm. And I wind up leaving the TV on all night which really helps both my electricity bill and potentially keeps up (and annoys) some of my neighbours. Nevermind.

np: Blur – Oily Water