Day Twenty

I now know why this job is only five hours a day. Because any more than that and you start to go crazy. I should really have learnt from past jobs ‘Whenever anyone asks you if you want to do overtime... You say NOOO!!!’ Granted, it was my own fault. Money. It’s always about money. At twenty-five hours a week I’m not exactly raking it in. I’m comfortable, I’m not struggling, but not like I’m able to put away much for a rainy day. It’s doubtful I could even afford a nice umbrella...ella ella ella... So the only option is to bite the cheese (no!) and take some overtime.

Day Eighteen

Top Ten Most Disappointing Sequels

Ok, me and Philip are back off the wagon with lists. I mean this is one of those ones that will polarise or bring people together. The only two rules we devised was that when it comes to franchises (i.e. Multiple sequels) only one sequel can be chosen and that it must be a true sequel not just two films made by the same group e.g. Fierce Creatures as a sequel to A Fish Called Wanda .

Day Seventeen

No laptops today.

Day Sixteen

Today is a very odd day. Scary. Terrifying. In fact, I am scared and by scared I mean like that stupid trailer for Paranormal Activity scared.

Day Thirteen

I’m starting to overdose on Jelly.
Confused? Yeah me too.

Day Eleven

One of the strangest things that has happened in the world of wrestling is the creation of the ‘wrestling author’. It seems that everyone who was anyone... or indeed not as the case may be... has ‘written’ a book on their life in the business. A lot of the time these are no different to the Shoot DVDs with the wrestlers using this opportunity to badmouth whoever or tell their side of locker room stories. These are usually ‘he said/she said’ stories that contradict everyone and everything whereas some such as those by the Iron Sheik are simply him going batcrap crazy with his infamous desire to make Brian Blair ‘humble in the old country way’! Seriously, don’t ask!

Day Nine

The washing machine seems to be a poor beast in the world of machinery. It never gets the credit it deserves does it? I mean we will praise the microwave until the cows come home, and of course we should, thanks to that wonderful device we can eat plastic-flavoured pasta products in less than three minutes.

Day Six

Day Six

I hate call centres

It seems ironic coming from someone who works for a call centre, but I hate call centres. I currently have no internet, which is fine in general, but it does mean I am limited in how I can communicate with people and also limits how I can pass my time. Usually, I’ll spend hours chatting to Claire or watching things on Youtube.

Day Four

I love washing dishes.

Day Three

There are only a few things I need to be happy and one of those things is a library. You all know that my dream job is to work in a library. Yes, I know there are those who wish they could be a lion tamer or could be on TV or whathaveyou, but for me... perfect job? Librarian.

Day Two

I hate it here already.
That’s a little extreme, but there is certainly a feeling of ‘what the hell is going on?’ with this place. The people are ok, in general for the twelve seconds I’ve seen them, but I didn’t exactly make the best impression on the girl from Preston. I should really get the names, but there is an inherent part of me that just doesn’t care. As I got up today, I went to the bathroom to get in the shower.

Book Three: Day One

How many boxes must a man have, before you call him a man?

Over the years I have accumulated quite a bit of stuff. Mainly useless things that no one really cares about, but enough to say 'Yes, I exist. This is me.'

Previously on The Michael Show...

Introduction

Can you do an intro after a prologue?
I don't know... but hell why not. I guess I should have really explained how this will work.
Before I was updating every Friday with a section from Book One. This was a regular pop in on Friday or whenever have a read and then pop out.
This time?
A little different. I will be writing Book 3 as part of this blog. Which means will something happen on a Wednesday, a Friday, a Sunday it will all go here. I'll keep a link on Facebook when I do post anything so those of you who are Facebook friends you can catch when the next section is up on there... those who aren't Facebook friends... well screw you I never wanted to be your friend... nah I'm kidding... You can also follow me on Twitter http://twitter.com/djs316

So please feel free to read along, comment, should it be in the final book? Should it be lost as a deleted scene? All your comments will be welcomed... good or bad... it's all good.
Thanks
David

Prologue

So here we are. Again. No this time it’s not a tale of woe... not yet...hopefully not. I didn’t want to write a third book, but the time felt right. Those who followed my adventures in Just Like Starting Over and Argufun-The Bitch is Back will know how this works. Life the universe and... well nothing else really.

I recently was signed to an agent who is shopping around the first book and it just seemed like a good impetus to start another book. I have also moved, new job, new love... new me? Possibly. I seem to be eating less cereal than I used to, but I’m sure that will be rectified now that Nestle have produced a fairly cheap mini pack set of all their cereals. Is there anything better than Cheerios? Of course there is, we all know that Coco Pops wins that one, but never mind.

So how's this going to work? Well, unlike the other two books that came on people like a relentless freight train, this one will be written as it happens. What will happen? What will I do? What won't I do?

So join me on this adventure and let’s see how I manage to fuck it all up this time.

Day 6

Day 6

I shouldn’t be here now.

I feel pathetic for thinking about it, I feel pathetic for not doing it, and I just feel pathetic.

I shouldn’t be here.

I woke up and everything was different. There was no longer a flowery smell in the air; there was no smell of coffee and the flat was cold. I was alone. I lay in the bed for an hour looking at the clock, watching the seconds pass away, while I deliberated on my options. I came to one conclusion:

I didn’t have any.

Showering, I got dressed and left the flat. I knew what I was going to do, but I knew it was wrong. It’s illegal to purchase more than one pack of painkillers at a time, so I walked into four different shops and in each one purchased a pack. Each time, I smiled, I passed my money, I received my receipt and I placed them in my bag. Finally, I reached the little off licence, I purchased a four pack of beer and just to be sure I also picked up the small travel pack of painkillers they had on the counter like sweeties. They shouldn’t have sold them to me, it’s illegal, but the underpaid student
behind the counter was too busy, tired or stoned to care and just sold them to me anyway.

I walked back home.

Getting inside, I dumped the bag on the side and sat down. I breathed. What the fuck was I doing? I was doing the one thing I knew I couldn’t, knew I shouldn’t, knew I… I opened the bag and began unpacking the contents onto the coffee table before me. Five packs of tablets, twenty-four could kill me; seventy-two could be described as overkill. They’ll probably say ‘Oh Mike was so paranoid; he has to overdo everything.’ I did. I began thinking through everything. Do I leave a note? What would I say in it, would I quote someone? Who? Orwell, Plath maybe a Bob Dylan line or something? Should I leave clues, plug in the Ipod and have Manic Street Preachers playing? No, I couldn’t do that; they’ll probably find me while Baby Elian is playing and think it was a political act. Who would find me? Sure, work might start asking questions when I don’t turn up, but only a few of them had been to my flat and those are the ones who probably couldn’t give a crap anyway. Linda? The likelihood is she would pop back every month or so to pick up her mail and generally piss me off with her ‘my life is going great’ talk. I could be in here for days, weeks, I’d already paid the rent and so the Landlord might not force the door until next month. Should I call someone? When would I do that? Before or after? If I did it before they might come and stop or revive me, if I decide to do it after I might not be able to.

How do I do it? Do I mash the pills into a drink? Or try and take as many as I can? What if the taste makes me sick? What if something goes wrong and I don’t die, I might just end up paralysed, braindead or a Michael Bay fan? I stopped in my tracks as that thought rattled around in my head and I began to smile. I crossed to my Ipod and played the ‘Pearl Harbour Sucks’ song from the film Team America. I sat back down in front of all my paraphernalia and laughed at each line, each laugh becoming more and more expressive, more and more joyous and louder.

What the fuck was I doing?

Seriously, you dumb bastard! You actually went out and spent almost a quarter of your food budget on more pills than you’ll ever use in a lifetime! Picking each of them up, I walked to the bathroom and placed them in the medicine cabinet and shutting the door saw my reflection. I was still me. I wasn’t dead and I didn’t want to be either. This was just a moment… a ‘Black Mood’ that I could easily suppress with comedy, with laughter, with the fact that I can go on. Sure it’ll be tough, but that’s the point!

I sat back on the couch and flicked on the TV. With Linda gone, it meant I could sit here and watch anything I wanted. I didn’t have to sit through endless cop shows or real-life dramas about children being abused or women being raped. None of that shit would be on my screen again. I flicked through a number of channels until I found what I was looking for:

The violins played and I’ve never been so happy to see the face of Basil Fawlty on my screen.

Day Five

/meta>

Day 5

She’s gone!

Damn you Hall and Oates! I can’t get that song out of my head now. What happened? The flat felt bigger (it would feel that even more bigger if she’d taken all of her stuff). But she’s gone. If I ever meet Hall and/or Oates I’ll throttle them! I walked around the room, into the bedroom, the bedroom still smells of her, various scents and products that made her essence.

Day Three

Day 3

Back in work. Ready, Aim, Fire!!!

Chapter Two: Day Two

I’m not going into work today. I can’t face it. Another cross in the sickness book, another conversation about responsibility-like I give a fuck! I can see it now. ‘Oh you’re a Team Leader; you need to set a standard for the others.’ Erm… yeah, it’s difficult to do that when you’re sitting in the corner crying like a baby. Still trying to figure out what’s going on and the limbo is killing me. She says she doesn’t want to be in a relationship while she’s training to be in the police. Tells me the horror stories of couples splitting up in the middle of it, or afterwards, the constant feeling that she could come home dead. Hell, I’ve been thinking that for the last two years anyway.

Day One

Well... what's a man to do?

Well if you are reading this then you're obviously interested... or a friend just checking whether I'd gone crazy.

Maybe both.

Just Like Starting Over: Chapter One

It's friday... so it must be... erm Top of the Pops?
Sorry about the dated reference.

As promised here is the first chapter (of sorts) of the book Just Like Starting Over: Based on a True Story. If you read and enjoy, please pass it on, whether it be through Twitter or Facebook or any other way... hell you can even just tell someone about it...

Once again, any comments are welcome-

Day Two: Stuff to do!

In 1990 Ben Elton (remember him? he used to be a topical stand up and wrote the good Blackadders before he went all musical and novelist) did a standup gig where he talked about:

'Stuff to do. Stuff to do. No matter what happens, there's always stuff to do. Why didn't Napoleon win? It's because he hadn't done the washing up that's why?'

Which is where I am now.

Day One Continued... A Little Experiment

OK everyone.

In the spirit of The Joker I'm going to try a little experiment.
On the 16th of October I will be uploading the first chapter of my book here.