A Writer's Journey

Day Twenty

2009-12-18T03:55:00.001-08:00

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.

Now, this job in general is fine. In fact, it is one of the few jobs where I have actually enjoyed what I do. This is surprising, when I think about it. I suppose now is the time to explain the job. I work in a call centre for what could technically be dubbed a ‘Housing Association’. We provide cheap housing for people who need it. The department I am in is, well, General Enquiries is too broad a term to use, but I guess it’s the best I can do. I take calls that change every minute, mostly they are to do with repairs that people need doing, but then we have neighbourhood issues, problems with rent, problems with tenancy agreement, enquiries about sales and so on and so forth. Most are simple run-of-the-mill things that you handle in an almost robotic-type way ‘Hello. Yes. Goodbye.’ Some...? Well, not so run-of-the-mill.
The biggest problem I have is the consistency of the calls. We have three people call in about a boiler that is broken, we can offer the same solution to all three and I guarantee the reaction will be different. One will be delighted that it will be fixed in twenty-four hours, one will be horrified by this and one will be delighted, but be horrified at the fact they will have to stay in for the twenty-four hour appointment. I mean, I understand to some extent that when you are cold twenty-four hours can sound like a long time, but the fact is we could say ‘Yeah, we’ll get to you next week’. Or we could say ‘If you want any better you will have to pay!’ We don’t. We offer the solution and if they don’t like it we are in some sort of eerie stalemate. I often wonder what I would do if told no hot water and heating for twenty-four hours. Would I bitch and moan? No. I’d go put the kettle on, make myself a hot water bottle and a cup of tea and grab another jumper out of the wardrobe. I’d deal with it. Oh and by twenty-four hours I mean we could turn up in five minutes or we could turn up on hour ten, twenty and so on. This means you have to stay in. The number of times I have to take calls from people who ‘Just popped out’ and have missed the engineer and now want us to send someone else out! When I tell them I can’t and that you had your chance and that you now had to pay the charge for the missed appointment, the appointment you called up for, bitching and moaning that you needed it done NOWWWWW!!!!!!! And by now, they don’t mean in an hour or in twelve or twenty hours, they mean they want us to be at the door when the phone goes down. If this happened to me, would I start shouting down the phone about how ‘I pay my rent’ (Sidenote: Despite everyone saying this, it is ironic how many scream this down the phone who are sometimes three or four hundred pounds in arrears!) and how ‘This isn’t good enough!’ No! Would I ask to speak to the Managing Director at 9.30pm on a Sunday? Yes, I have taken this call. Can you imagine asking that kind of thing? I felt like asking them whether they wanted me to put them through to The Queen while I was at it!
I get a lot of calls like this. People who you are told in training, you should just let them get it off their chest, but after a while you wonder exactly why they are calling you in the first place? Some are utterly baffled when you tell them they have to pay to have the window they broke replaced and when you tell them how much it will cost for us to fix it for them hit the roof! People who leave their Christmas presents under the boiler and then when the boiler bursts and destroys them all expects us to pay for the damage! It’s a mad situation and really sometimes it’s difficult to go from one call to next as you choke back the urge to tell someone ‘Stop whining and deal with it! Where’s your Goddamn backbone?’ or just to slam the phone down on them.
Some I sympathise with, I do. They have babies or they are elderly or have some illness that requires hot water or heating or whatever. I try and help them, I do. But sometimes, it’s almost like the more you try and help, the more they throw it back in your face. You get people who say ‘I need heating’, so you spring to action with a twenty-four hour appointment to which they volley back at you with a ‘oh but I’m going out tonight’. Well, if you want your hot water and heating for your kids, then you’ll have to stay in. They will again just bitch and moan about how ‘You wouldn’t like this would you?’ And all I can do is bite my tongue and resist saying ‘No, I wouldn’t, but I would stay in if it actually meant anything to me to have the heating! I mean at least meet me halfway here!’
Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Breathe!
After all of this, I just hope the overtime actually makes it all worthwhile... I sure hope so.
We shall see!

Day Eighteen

2009-12-16T15:08:00.001-08:00

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 .

1.) Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

Hiding in a fridge from a nuclear bomb. Nuff said!

2.) Alien 3

This really is an attack on the corporate ties that held this film down. Seven and Fight Club have proven what Fincher can do with a script, something he never had with this film. Sure Alien Resurrection was horrible, but after this film it was to be expected.

3.) Terminator: Salvation

Terminator 2 was just two hours of ILM showing off; three was just rife with problems. This film? Could have been the best of the series. It had the cast. It had the budget. They just forgot the script and ended with the most banal ending. Really this film will only be remembered for the deleted nude scene of Moon Bloodgood and Christian Bale freaking out on set.

4.) Star Wars Episode 2: Attack of the Clones

What? Not Episode One? No. Episode Two was Lucas’ chance to redeem himself and create his Empire of the new trilogy. Instead he made an episode of Dawson’s Creek in space. Horrible in every way!

5.) Police Academy 7: Mission to Moscow

Two to Six have their moments, this film is just bad!

6.) The Matrix Reloaded

The first film had everyone asking ‘what is the matrix?’ the second one gave us the answer ‘a good film that should have been left alone!’

7.) The Godfather Part 3

Really this was just a bad idea from the start. Portraying Michael as a sickly diabetic made him so vulnerable that when he did do his classic Pacino outbursts it was more funny than scary. Just a sad end to what was up until now a perfect example of film making on all levels.

8.) Robocop 2

Only because it was so bad that they still decided to make another sequel and then a TV show? Will they ever learn?

9.) Escape from LA

Essentially just Escape from New York... in LA. What’s the point?

10.) Aliens vs. Predator: Requiem

This feels like when a series is being rebooted, however the problem with this film is they had already rebooted the series for the first one. Requiem is just painful to watch and at times (no scratch that ALL THE TIME) makes no goddamn sense! Plus I get that it’s a lot of dark and night scenes, but they could have found ways for me to not squint at the screen all the time. Just horrible to watch.

It’s funny doing this type of list, because you see all the films you would happily watch simply because of the previous one. Was Ghostbusters 2 a great film? Compared to the original? Not at all. Judged on its own merits? It’s fine. I have so many sequels in my collection that really should be in this list: Caddyshack 2, Return of the Living Dead 2, sequels from A Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween, Saw 2-5 (Speaking of which I just saw the trailer for Saw 6, looks like they are going to milk this franchise dry until it is a shadow of its former self. Which is a shame!)

But for me... I’d be quite happy if these ten films had never existed.

Day Seventeen

2009-12-15T14:42:00.001-08:00

No laptops today.

The laptop goblin must have had his fun with me for now.
Such a relief.

Day Sixteen

2009-12-14T11:27:00.001-08:00

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.

Side Note: Ok people have been going on about this film as if it is the greatest horror film since... well the last greatest horror film. Comparisons keep being made to Blair Witch and lots of talk about whether it is real or not...

BUT

It’s not real. Not in the slightest. Unlike Blair Witch which spent its entire publicity for almost a year trying to create the idea that this is real, this film has not done this and will not achieve it ever. Those who believe that the film is real are probably the same people who think that something is going to really touch them when they watch a 3D film! The fact is how could the film be real when there are three versions of the film in existence and the two members of the cast who are supposedly dead are showing up on film shows being interviewed! DUH!!!!

How stupid is America?

Granted, I have not seen the film yet... probably won’t... so yes maybe it is scary... maybe...

Anyhoo...

I woke up this morning and opened my door. Outside were three laptops, one on top of the other, no leads, just the three units in the middle of my door. Ok, now maybe one laptop I could explain (slightly), two possibly... but three laptops just left there? I lifted them and checked them over. None of them had any power, one was even an old IBM Thinkpad which I seem to recall using nearly ten years prior during my University days.

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?

I checked them all for a note. Maybe a:

‘Hi you can have these if you want.’

‘We can’t get these working, can you help?’

Or... SOMETHING!

There was nothing. No note. No message. No nothing!

What did this mean? I mean, was it like The Godfather being given fishes as a message, maybe an updated Twenty-First Century version?

Sonny: What the hell is this?

Tessio: It’s a cyberspace message. It means you will soon be sleeping with the laptops.

I felt like I was in the scene from Blair Witch, with the bundle of sticks left outside the tent. We all remember what was in there don’t we?

So, I went up for a shower, not before moving the laptops to the side. I showered and tried to let the water clear my head. Drying and getting dressed in the bathroom the whole scenario was rolling around and around in my head. When I came back- They were gone?

Now either I’m imagining seeing laptops or someone is trying to send me a bizarre and possibly terrifying message. But what could it mean?

I’m so scared!!!!!

Day Thirteen

2009-12-11T12:45:00.000-08:00

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

Well, when I arrived I went through my food box and found that I had ten packets of jelly. Ten? Why would I want or need ten packets of jelly? Why would anyone? All I can assume is this: Buy one get one free drew me in with its alluring Siren call. But seriously... TEN?

So I was looking at them and I noticed the Best Before Date. It was in two weeks. I had two weeks to go through ten packets of jelly. Ten jellys in fourteen days is a lot of jelly, but if anyone could do it, it would be me.... or so I thought...

As you can see this is Day Thirteen and I think I’ve had so much jelly I can feel my entire body wobble. I know some of you are thinking I should have given some away or made some and taken them to work, passed them around...but then when would I have the time to do that and why would I do that anyway?
I’m on the lime jelly today as I have gone through all the blackcurrant and the raspberry flavoured. I only have three to go, but I really think I’d explode if I had one more wibble wobble jelly on my plate and the thought of eating a lemon jelly isn’t as appealing as it must have been when I bought it. But even as I mix the orange flavoured jelly in the measuring jug and watch as the globules of jelly squares slowly dissolve I wonder if this is really what life has come to? Have I really become that person who cannot bear (or is it bare?) to waste anything, even when he knows the cost is probably less than fifty pence?

Have I become that person?

We shall see!

Day Eleven

2009-12-09T15:40:00.001-08:00

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!

Of these books, a few are interesting. Foley’s first was good if very, very dense. Flair’s was a little one-sided and as for Hogan’s a hilarious stretch on the word ‘truth’. This brings me to today as I have finished reading one of the few books that the library had. In fact, the fact is it was a rather odd moment as I walked... correction... I took five steps around the local library when I stumbled across this obscure book in the biography ‘section’. To find it in this library of all places was a bit like finding a needle in a haystack or a joke in a Horne and Corden sketch. There it was Pure Dynamite? Ring any bells? No? The biography of Tom Billington? The Dynamite Kid? One half of the British Bulldogs, possibly one of the greatest tag teams ever and as far as I am aware the only Englishman to ever been awarded a Five Star match by Wrestling Observer’s Dave Meltzer.

Pure Dynamite

By Tom ‘Dynamite Kid’ Billington

The Dynamite Kid Tom Billington was one of the greatest wrestlers who ever stepped in the ring. If we only went by Championships, sure he didn’t accomplish that much, he’s not a 17-time world champion or anything, but then Sid Vicious was a 4-time champion and I doubt we’ll hear ‘great wrestler’ and ‘Sid Vicious’ in the same sentence. Everyone in the US who works a high flying match, everyone in the X-Division, they all owe something to The Dynamite Kid. Without him, it’s highly unlikely we would have an X-Division.

Pure Dynamite charts his training in Wigan, him going to Stampede to work for Stu Hart, his feuds with Bret amongst others, his tours of Japan for New and All Japan and him bringing his cousin Davey Boy Smith to Calgary. Once Vince McMahon had bought Stampede he packaged the two up as The British Bulldogs who went on to become the WWF Tag Team Champions. He doesn’t go much into his time in WWF, other than to say the money was good, the matches against the Hart Foundation were great and then spends much of the time saying who he rated and didn’t rate in the company. The ones who he didn’t rate included Hogan, Iron Sheik and even Junkyard Dog who he commended as a worker, but said was a waste of time in the ring. He also hated Brutus Beefcake... but then, doesn’t everyone?

I have to be honest that this was a tough book to read. I had tried to read this book when everyone seemed to have one and to me Dynamite’s book was just all over the place and I never really read it fully, it always stayed on my book shelf with Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice. The problem with his book is that rather than tell me his story, he just tells me random memories. We have all been there on a Sunday with an elderly relative who decides to tell you about how he used to get the tram into town to watch the circus go by? Those Grandpa Simpson stories? That is what Dynamite tells throughout the entire book. If I went through and removed all the ‘rib’ stories and pranks he played or witnessed then I’d be left with maybe a few dozen pages. As it is, he seems to get into a period of his life and then tell me about all the jokes he pulled and really for the most they are all ‘you had to be there to see the funny side’ tales.

Now others who have read his book have commented on how he sounds a bitter and twisted man. And if I’m honest he does. But when you read his story and how it ends you can understand why this is. The most famous story he tells is when he was legitimately beaten up by Jacques Rougeau who jumped him backstage and pummelled him with a knuckleduster which though he had four teeth knocked out did not put him down. Yet Rougeau was never penalised for it. Dynamite suggests that Pat Patterson and maybe even Vince McMahon had set this up as a way to ‘discipline’ him. The Bulldogs left the company shortly after and wrestled in Japan, Indies and so forth until his injuries were too much for him.

Throughout the story you see how (in Dynamite’s opinion) Davey Boy just used his cousin to get him as far as he could. Davey Boy comes across as being extremely pussywhipped by Diana Hart who (again in Dynamite’s opinion) really made all the decisions in their relationship. He recounts how he was in hospital injured and he only ever visited him once and that was for a publicity shot for the press. Davey Boy even went so far as to trademark the name ‘The British Bulldog’ and not allow Dynamite Kid to use it when he wrestled in indy shows. I know in this day and age of The Dudleyz being Team 3D and name changes aplenty it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but if Vince McMahon had trademarked the name Hulk Hogan you know Mr Bollea would have something to say about that.

The darkest part of the story is how flippant he is talking about drugs. He talks about them as if he is just talking about having a drink after a match. Though he doesn’t go into how much he was using, when you see what he is like now and how the book ends with him not even being able to walk, you could use this book as a great example of ‘wrestlers just say no to drugs!’ When you read the story you wonder why so many people still do it when you look at the extreme consequences. It is quite eerie when he recounts the story of a young Chris Benoit telling him that he will become a wrestler just like him. And we all know how that one ended.

Pure Dynamite in my opinion is a book that really needs an update, whether it’s just an extra fifty pages about what has happened since the book was written (in 1999) and maybe his thoughts on the wrestling business today. However as an overview of the crazy world of professional wrestling and of the dangers of ‘living in the fast lane’ this is a book that can’t be ignored.

8/10

Maybe this library wasn’t so bad after all!

Day Nine

2009-12-07T15:11:00.000-08:00

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.

The toaster? Wow! Instead of having to wait 2 minutes under a grill and have the mundane task of having to turn it over half way, just pop down and there you have it, perfectly burnt toast in half the time. But the washing machine never gets that love. It’s surprising really, because when you consider how long it would take you to actually wash your clothes without one... I mean it’s just in, press and leave.
And that’s where my problem lies today... the leaving.
I live with three other people. All three need clean clothes and so that’s fine I don’t mind waiting for all washing to be done to do mine. What I do mind is when they leave the washing in there... for what seems like EVER!!!!
So I woke up this morning and thought: I better get that washing done. And as I had three hours before work, I decided if I put it in before work, I can take it out just before I have to leave and then sort out the drying part later. Perfect! So I gathered the bag, the powder and went into the kitchen to the trusty the washer... the full washer... now as I didn’t notice if it was full yesterday and I didn’t hear any machine going through the night, the washing must have been there for some time. I opened it... and of course... with two women and one guy, what are the odds it’s full of female clothing? Any takers? This of course led me to the dilemma: Do I move them? I mean it’s not like I’m going to go through it all, check sizes, try it on and then take pictures of myself... not while they’re still wet anyway.
I tossed a coin and then decided to bite the bagel (nope) and moved the clothes, figuring that if I can get the washing done before I go I can just put the clothes back afterwards. Genius.
So I put them in and for some reason the default setting is Max Load. I didn’t realise this and saw the luminous clock on the front gazing at me like the eyes of some evil swamp creature:
‘2:36’
I mean come on! It doesn’t take that long to wash clothes... Does it?
Granted I’ve never timed a washing machine before, but that did seem a little excessive. So I looked at my watch, I had to leave in approximately two and a half hours, granted I may be able to wait an extra six minutes and then just walk/jog/run a bit faster to work. So I waited... and waited... and waited.
I got to my failsafe point and still the luminous clock glared at me
‘0:13’
What? No way? That isn’t possible, not unless the machine stopped halfway to have a nap! And so I decided to put the other person’s clothes in the dryer. Correction, that’s what I would have done if... yes you guessed it... the dryer was also full... of more women’s clothes. I mean come on, this isn’t fair! So as I simply did not have the time to be messing around with two lots of clothes, I simply left it all and decided: ‘Fuck it! If they complain, they complain.’
I went to work and came back. Seriously there is no point in filling in that five hour gap really as all I did was answer calls and try and help solve people’s issues. It’s not as bad as selling or cold calling, but the people you speak to seem to lean towards the incredibly stupid and the just plain ridiculous. I’m sure I’ll come back to this another time, but for now... clock in, clock out.
So I get home. Enter and find the clothes that were on the washing machine gone. My clothes were still in the machine and it had finally, finally done its full cycle. So I took them out and proceeded to put them in... Oh for God’s sake! Yes, she had picked her clothes up, put them in the dryer and left them there. I gave up. Scooping my clothes up I left for my room where I proceeded to make use of the radiators to dry them.
Later, I was sitting reading the atrocious new Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy book by Eoin Colfer And Another Thing... who seems to think that putting little asides by The Guide constitutes as comedy, when yes the first two or three are amusing, but the rest are like being beaten around the head and neck with a rubber chicken... I heard a few voices in the kitchen and I heard or think I heard one saying ‘...him touching my clothes...’ If I hadn’t been very comfy at the time, I would have gone out and said ‘If you don’t want me to touch your clothes then don’t leave them in the washing machine for days on end!’
I shudder to imagine what would have happened if we didn’t have the washing machine.
Bless the poor mechanical thing!

Day Six

2009-12-04T03:49:00.001-08:00

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.

My internet came today.

Correction. A box came today with a bunch of things I can use to get onto the internet. It’s a bit like showing me the cake, but not allowing me to eat it.

So, as I had no time to install before work I came back after and started to tinker. I plugged in wires and installed programs, watching endless hourglasses go by as I waited for things to configure and then I was happily told:

Connection Error.

I tried a number of things until I finally bit the biscuit...? No, because when would that be the inevitable thing to do? Unless you had to check whether it was still fresh. Sometimes you never know. Or if it was a pack of those custard creams with the different flavours and you had to bite the biscuit to see which one was which? No, doesn’t work!

I called up the call centre and I was kept on hold.

I should point out in my work as a call centre monkey I have been told that a customer must only be waiting for twenty seconds and should (during a call) never be kept on hold for more than a minute. I was kept on hold for nineteen minutes!

This wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d had a variety of music to listen to... but instead I heard Shakira, Pink and Ne-Yo in rotation for nearly half an hour. And by that I don’t mean a few songs by each. I mean one song from each over and over and over and over and over and over and over until I now know every word to that bloody She-Wolf song!!!

Finally I got through and I have to go through the Idiot’s Guide to the Internet. We all know the drill. Unplug it. Plug it back in. That should sort everything. No? Well, that’s all my knowledge done I better get an engineer out to you. Really? You think that I was on the line for nearly thirty minutes if I thought unplugging it would sort everything?

So now I have to wait for some guy to probably umm and ahh expect me to make him a cup of tea while he unplugs the things, plugs it back in and then declares that it’s not working and I need a new one.

We shall see!

Day Four

2009-12-02T12:20:00.001-08:00

I love washing dishes.

I don’t know why, I just always have. I think it’s one of those chores that never really felt like one. Was it the fact I could take my time, no hurry, no worries, just water, liquid, cloth or the fact that you really didn’t need any skills or preparation for the job. It’s not like vacuuming, where you have to worry about whether the bag is full or the cylinder is empty, about wires getting stuck and having to unplug because it won’t reach and set up again.
There’s a genuine calming feeling that comes from doing the dishes and I think one of the main reasons was ‘The Disk’. Now, over the years this has evolved (in the new tech days of Ipods and mp3s) into ‘The Playlist’, but it always remained the same mix of songs that would accompany me as I washed.

Michaels Dishes Mix

1. Sound of the Underground: Girls Aloud
2. A Thousand Miles: Vanessa Carlton
3. Can’t Stop: Red Hot Chilli Peppers
4. Smells like Teen Spirit: Nirvana
5. How You Remind Me: Nickleback
6. Blurry: Puddle of Mudd
7. Creep: Radiohead
8. High and Dry: Radiohead
9. Fake Plastic Trees: Radiohead
10. Streets of London: Ralph McTell
11. Dock of the Bay: Otis Redding
12. Here Comes the Sun: The Beatles
13. Mrs Robinson: Simon and Garfunkel
14. Shiny Happy People: REM

The music is almost in three waves, with the disk lasting a good hour, though they never took that long really. First up you had the ‘Get up and Go’ music: Tracks 1-6. These are the songs that get people active and usually singing as loud as they can. Of course they are perfect for this task as you move around the house looking for dishes, piling them up and getting everything ready. Next ‘The Depression Session’: Tracks 7-10. It’s Radiohead. That’s all you need to know, but after a while you do need a calming sensation and who better to numb you to the world than Radiohead? It also includes Streets of London, which I believe is possibly the saddest song ever written. Finally the ‘Chill Out and End’: Tracks 11-14. These are the ones that you listen to as your drying, putting them away, putting the kettle on for a cup of tea and getting ready for what the world has in store for you next.

In work today, I was on my break and decided to go and make myself a ‘brew’. Getting to the sink I saw it almost overflowing with dishes. And by overflowing, I mean in that comical leaning tower of Pisa of dishes type way. I sighed. I looked at the clock and I just couldn’t help myself, I emptied the sink, filled it with water and soap and started to wash. It seemed odd, just how calming this all was. I washed as people came in and out trying to get at a spoon or a clean cup, all the while giving me that look that seemed to say:
‘Wait. You’re doing the dishes?’
I finished washing and left them all to dry. As I did, Chrissy noticed the pile of dishes and then said ‘You could have just put them in the dishwasher you know’.
I bit my tongue.
AAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNDDDDDDDDDDDRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That’s the last time I do the bloody dishes here!

Day Three

2009-12-01T14:28:00.000-08:00

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.

I found the local library and I must say I was shocked. SHOCKED! I mean I expected it to be small, I did, I never expected three floors of books or anything... but this? I wasn’t prepared for.

Getting up, I collected bits of ID and things I thought I might need to prove I am who I says I am and I made my way to the library. I signed a form and they gave me my card. It was only then, that I turned to actually look at the place.

WHAT THE...?

I stared at three shelves of fiction, a shelf of children’s books, two shelves of audio and DVDS and another shelf of miscellaneous non-fiction. I was shocked. Shocked and stunned. I think I had more books than this place?!!

I walked through the ‘library’ trying to see where the stairs were to the rest. No. There are no stairs. This is all there was. I went to the fiction and quickly scanned along... L, M, N...O... O... Orwell... Come on! Every library should have at least Animal Farm in it. I think that’s the rule. Nope. Nothing. I crossed to the half shelf which was laughably titled ‘Science Fiction’ to see if they had any Douglas Adams... Nope! As a joke I crossed back to the normal fiction... B, B... Brown...

Oh you have got to be fucking with me?

They don’t have one copy of any Orwell book, but they have three copies of The Da Vinci Code?

I went passed the desk and as I was about to leave the woman stopped me ‘See anything you like?’ I almost had to stop myself asking whether she’d like to borrow some books from me instead.

Day Two

2009-11-30T13:25:00.001-08:00

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.

I showered and upon leaving scared the crap out of the Preston girl who had no idea who I was or what I was doing there? This wasn’t the best way to introduce myself and thankfully I was dressed and not just in a towel for even more embarrassment. She seemed generally freaked out, which seems a bit harsh, but it could be worse... she could have thought I was an intruder and tried to attack me, or she could have been insanely beautiful. She was neither, very plain looking and not a sharp knife in sight.
Thankfully the thought of whether she was ‘hot’ or not was no longer an issue due to the fact that I was now ‘A Boyfriend’ and as such have my ‘Boyfriend Shield’ on. This is a very good device that is so simple, it’s perfect. You simply take any woman in the entire universe. Any woman:
Top Ten Women Guys Seem To Go For... For No Good Reason
1.) Cheryl Cole.
2.) Megan Fox.
3.) Lucy Pinder.
4.) Keeley Hazell.
5.) Katy Perry.
6.) Britney Spears.
7.) Jessica Alba.
8.) Jessica Simpson.
9.) Beyonce.
10.) Kim Kardashian.
These women can all be batted back with a simple ‘She isn’t Claire’. This is what I did for over eight years with Linda. This is how I survive as a perfect boyfriend. I don’t fuck around and if I do look, I have this simple, foolproof, failsafe initiative in place. When men fuck up it’s usually because they simply do not have the sheer will to create something like this. Now you can sit and blahdiblah me about whether Claire is sexier than Megan Fox or whoever, but the simple fact is I don’t want Megan Fox, I want Claire, I have Claire and Megan Fox is not Claire. It doesn’t matter how many GQ/FHM etc shoots she does half naked showing her stupid tattoos that cover her body like she has spent half her life getting branded in jail. She isn’t Claire.
Going to work today was sooooooooooooooooooo good, for one reason and one reason alone. Twenty Minute Walk. Now, before today, my commute to work consisted of:
1.) A Twenty Minute Walk to the bus stop
2.) A First Bus Journey which lasted One Hour and Forty-Seven Minutes
3.) A Second Bus Journey which lasted Twenty-Two Minutes
4.) A Fifteen Minute Walk from the bus stop to work
All in all, almost three hours of journeying before I had even lifted a finger to do any work? As you can imagine, this wasn’t exactly the ideal situation, but it was all I could do. And that’s just the journey to work!
Today? Twenty minutes. I leisurely walked to work. I got there with ten minutes to spare, unlike my usual almost, but not quite late arrival. I had enough time to make myself a ‘brew’ and sit down, before the day of work was to begin. Perfect.
I guess I should make more of that word ‘brew’. Yes, this office is possibly as Northern as you can get. Now being from Liverpool I am used to little pieces of slang that litter the Scouse language, despite the headaches some of them cause. Scran. Jibbed. Avie... and so on... I defy anyone not from Liverpool who can decipher those words without at least a translator to hand. In this office a cup of hot beverage is ‘a brew’. Now I could be pedantic and say that it should really only be used for a cup of tea, but as you can also brew coffee I will let that one go. It’s funny, because the first time someone said it to me I honestly thought they were joking, it was one of those words you very rarely hear like ‘sorry’ from an MP fiddling with their expense reports. But no, this is what everyone says.
There is a feeling that I should explain my job, but really all you need to know is that it is a call centre for incoming calls. You got that image in your head? That’s all it is. Thankfully, it’s not sales. It’s not the horrendous feeling of every call having to ‘sell sell sell or you’ll be fired fired fired’. Instead, it was just picking up calls all day for the five hours of work and then logging off and going home. Yes, it is only five hours which I suppose is classed as part-time hours, but the money is such that it beats a minimum wage job into a bloody mush as you can easily work the basic twenty five hours a week and make almost as much, if not more, than those who spend thirty seven and a half hours having to deal with customers face to face and finding out which of your phones that were constructed by thirteen year old Vietnamese children for 10p an hour to force onto a hapless passerby for hundreds of pounds worth of a contract that they don’t need.
The workplace is seemingly full to the brim with women. If I was single this would probably be the equivalent of one of Dante’s Circles of Hell. I’m guessing Purgatory. The girls in the office are all young... far too young, with some who have not even celebrated their 18th birthday yet... God I feel so old at times... and mostly either single or attached and spend most of the day telling stories about what a ‘loser’; their boyfriends are. It’s Nicole and Odo all over again. Thankfully, my Boyfriend Shield masks all this crap, so all I have to do is keep my head down and learn as much as I can to do the job competently.
Which I am doing... I think... Maybe...It’s just a bit difficult to know. But I do know when I’m fucking up. They are quite happy to come and tell me when I’m doing that. It’s the good stuff that they seem to have a problem identifying. I was told on the first day ‘No news, is good news’ and I just hope that’s true and it’s not just a case of one day I’ll have a meeting with my Team Leader who will then spend hours going through all the ways I’ve been fucking up, followed by my old friend Mr. P45.
The odd part of today, was how relaxed I felt. Usually, I’d be clock watching, making sure that I’d be up and out at exactly 17.45 as one minute after may result in a missed bus or a 200 meter sprint to the bus stop, praying to all known Gods to stop it, followed nine times out of ten by me cursing all those Gods and the bus driver who obviously saw me running, but had no soul.
I logged out, stopped for a moment to chat to one of my co-workers, something I couldn’t do before and then went for my twenty minute walk home. On my way, I called Claire and felt a bit... not home sick... Is Claire-sick too corny? I know it is, but hell that’s what I’m going with. Kinda wish that I could have been coming home to her. In time. Well, it can’t come all at once; it has to go in steps, like Tony Montana said ‘Money, Power, Women’. I wish it could be as simple as that, mine has gone on to include so many steps I feel more like Dorothy than Scarface:
My Top Ten Steps to a Happier Life
1.) First you get the Job
2.) Then you get the Money
3.) Then you get the Savings
4.) Then you get your Own Place
5.) Then you get the Driving Lessons
6.) Then you pass the Test
7.) Then you get the Savings
8.) Then you get the Car
9.) Then you get a Better Job
10.) Then you get the Woman.
I guess these should be explained:
1.) First you get the Job
OK, well obviously the job is important. Without the job you can’t do any of the rest. This seems to be the starting point of all steps to success.
2.) Then you get the Money
With the job comes the money. Granted it may only be minimum wage or not the greatest wage in the world, but it will still get you the money.
3.) Then you get the Savings
Saving is important. Anyone who lives from pay check to pay check and can’t save something is going to have problems. I think the key word there is ‘something’. Sure it could only be £10. It’s still £10. It’s still something. It’s still something in an emergency. It is still enough money to put electricity in the meter or buy some food or pay for a taxi home. It’s what I would like to call a ‘Buffer’.
4.) Then you get your Own Place
Everyone needs somewhere they can be themselves. A place you can call home and even if you are sharing it with three other people you haven’t really met beyond a ‘hello’, it’s still somewhere you can be you.
5.) Then you get the Driving Lessons
Sure it’s easy to say ‘Get yourself a car’, but if you can’t actually drive then what’s the point. This is a bit like when people say you should ‘swim with dolphins’ before you die, forgetting about the fact you may need to learn to swim first.
6.) Then you pass the Test
Those who have followed my story will already know why steps 5 and 6 are about as likely as me winning first place in a tallest person competition. But I still have to try.
7.) Then you get the Savings for the Car
See Step Three, only this time the Savings are specifically for something.
8.) Then you get the Car
You got your licence. You got the money. Just the car left.
9.) Then you get a Better Job
With the car, it means that you are no longer tied down by where you can or can’t actually apply for a job. So now you can spread your wings and let’s face it how many jobs have you seen that have the phrase ‘must know how to drive’ in there... usually at the end, like a punch in my gut?
10.) Then you get the Woman.
The fact I have Claire does seem to suggest I jumped a few steps. Hell, I jumped almost all of them. I guess it just proves the system isn’t perfect, but at least we can all agree you shouldn’t buy the car without passing your test and you shouldn’t take the test without some lessons.
Getting inside, the house was eerily quiet, apart from the faint hum of the washing machine. I entered my room, changed and decided to have some cereal. With no internet, there was simply nothing for me to do. I could have tried to do something, sort out a few of the boxes, but it just felt like a ‘what’s the point?’ moment for me, as I knew this wouldn’t be somewhere I would want to stay for more than a few months and so why bother making it home? Why bother making friends with these people who may or may not like me. I went to the fridge and there was a note on the door. I shuddered inside. I could feel a disturbance in the Force as I could feel these people would be that kind of people. The not read thus:
‘Dear new housemate. The top section of the fridge is yours. Thanks. The House.’
Well, that wasn’t so bad, though I did spend the rest of the night wondering if it really was the house who wrote that note?

Book Three: Day One

2009-11-29T15:07:00.000-08:00

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.'

Moved into new place today. Well, I should backtrack I got the keys on Friday, moved the stuff on Saturday and now on Sunday I am finally here. My own little box landscape. Though compared to what I arrived from Bristol with, this is nothing.

I moved to Preston after trying (and failing) to save enough money to get my own place I decided to bite the bomb? (no that doesn't work) and move into a shared house. Yes, I knew this would mean a number of things:

1. Moving in with a number of people I may have no common interest in or indeed like.

2. I would have to share bathroom facilities which may mean waiting to use it, which may be a pain.

3. Sharing a fridge, leading to the inevitable 'Who stole my cheese?' shit.

And most importantly:

4. I would have to spend time getting to know new people, something I don't do well at the best of the times, but when it's forced, it's almost like trying to get a lion to play Connect Four with a chicken.

So here I am.

It seems my life hasn't amounted to that much when I look at these boxes around me. Enough, but not that much. My life consists of:

2 boxes of books that I will probably not open as I don't have the storage space to put them anywhere.

1 giant plastic box that is filled with a multitude of DVDs.

1 wooden box which was empty, but now contains my towels, plates and cups and a few other bits.

2 boxes of papers, ID, Bill-type stuff

1 box full of food which ranges from cereal (obviously) to jelly.

2 bags of computer wires and my laptop.

2 suitcases and 3 binbags full of clothing and bed stuff.

That's it.

Of course this being me, the first thing I did was unpack my laptop and start to shove things generally around the space. I made the bed so that I would have a large space to use (ie to dump stuff) and then found a cup, my tea and milk.

It should be noted that when I moved in, no one was here. The Landlord told me there were three other people in the flat: A Japanese girl and a girl from Preston who had the upstairs rooms and a guy next to me. Fine. No names, but then it was highly unlikely I would remember them anyway. So it was lucky that I was able to move in uninterrupted and be able to swear like a sailor as I dropped the box of books and generally make a noise.

So despite the fact I didn't know if anything in the kitchen belonged to anyone I made myself a cup of tea. I guess I should have really asked about who owned the kettle, microwave, toaster etc. I mean, I'd hate to step on someone's toes and use their property without asking. I know that would piss me off, except being typically English, I'd just stew over it and grumble to myself in the corner.

All better now. Battery recharged and I went back to it.

What I didn't know was that someone was here while I was making all this noise. So the hours passed as I waited for anyone to come in. No sound of the door. I just wanted to be polite and say hello, introduce myself and at least get that out of the way. No one came. It got late and to be honest I was so tired I just lay on the bed and obviously fell asleep...

Knock Knock Knock!

It was much later. And for a moment I didn't even know where I was. I looked around, worried that I had been kidnapped and was now in some cell of a terrorist's mad detention centre.

Knock Knock Knock!

I was still a little puzzled, but I blearily got up and went to the door. I opened and came face to face with Sadako. This is no joke, the girl standing outside, illuminated only by my bedroom lamp and the light of the kitchen, looked like the horror from The Ring. I almost stepped back in fright at this. I didn't know what to say.

She opened her mouth. I thought 'If she makes a croaking sound like the creature from The Ring I will piss my pants right there.'

'Hello? Have you moved in?'

Her voice was fine in general. No indication that she was about to steal my soul or cause me to have a massive coronary and die. Granted the question was slightly stupid, like asking someone 'Are you awake?'

I told her who I was, (still didn't catch the name) but before I could continue she blurted out:

'How long are you going to be staying?

Hmm? How long is a piece of string? Until I have saved enough money to get my own place. Until I have saved enough to learn how to drive and pass my test and then it wouldn't matter where I live? I mean how do I answer that. I tell him I'm not sure, but that I signed a contract for six months. That's not strictly true as the Landlord didn't even have a contract when I moved in, but there we go, six months seems like a good benchmark at the moment.

She nodded her head in that way you do when you are talking to a relative about a subject you know very little about and then she disappeared back through the TV screen to go scare someone else after seven days. I was left alone. I looked about at my little cell, maybe it will be ok.

We shall see.

Previously on The Michael Show...

2009-11-27T03:16:00.000-08:00

It seems only appropriate to begin at the beginning and then work my way back... sort of... I’m moving to Preston tomorrow. There are probably some of you thinking ‘Preston, but aren’t you from Liverpool... are you not in Bristol? What the ...?’
Yes, Bristol.
Guess I should backtrack.
Alright then...
In November I received a letter from the landlord that said he was selling the house and therefore we (me and Nicole) would have to move. WHAT THE FUCK?!!!
Ok, so this wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I moved and to be honest I was kind of hoping I could settle for at least the full six months before I decide to blow my brains off over the hell that life had become. Don't you hate it when people say things like that? It's like 'Really? And how exactly would you do that? To procure a gun from some place in order to blow your brains off?' Thinking about it sadly, it's probably not as difficult as I imagine to obtain a gun to do this.
Anyway...I'd had enough of Bristol due to one thing or another. I had become sick of the mess that was my life and a change was needed. Now of course this meant two things:
1. Quit my job
2. Tell Nicole
It's odd how telling Nicole was the hardest part. Mainly because I knew that it would upset her, but mainly because, well I had become almost a brother to her over the time together. But as cruel as it felt to leave her alone I had to do it. She cried. I felt like a dick and to be honest she had every right to make me feel that way.
Work was the easy one. Or it should have been, except they hit me with a bombshell. How do you fancy three months as a Secondee Manager? Say what? Say What! Me Secondee? What? No, no, no, no. What? In Ambient? So what you are saying is instead of doing it in the area where I have been working for the past three years, you want to send me to an area I have no idea about? I should have said no. But there was a part of me that wanted to see what it was like. It was like some perverse Pandora's Box that I had to look inside, even if it was just a peek, just a peek!
Suffices to say I hated it. And why? It was because I couldn't do nothing. And by nothing I mean literally eight hours of completely nothing. It was horrifying as my brain was slowly mushed into the size of a pea, which seemed to be all that was needed to do the job.
After three days I had had all I could stands I could stands no more.
Fuck this noise man!
I'm out!
Handing in my notice is possibly one of the scariest and most satisfying things I have ever done. The feeling of saying 'That's me done!' and then two weeks feeling utterly bulletproof, people trying to change my mind and what is more I got to say the line I always wanted to say 'I'm late from my break? What are they going to do? Fire me?'
The last day was sad, but not as much as I thought it would be. I think the worst thing was when I organised a night out. I specifically made it my weekend so that I could spend a night with the people I had worked with. All of a sudden everyone cancelled EVERYONE! Even Alyssa and Nicole! Everyone started going on about the cost and despite me saying repeatedly that I would pay for taxis they kept saying they wanted to just stay in and drink.
It should be noted, that when Polish, Slovak etc people drink it is nine times out of ten some traditional alcohol that you could power a tank with! Sure a small glass is fine as a shot, but when they start filling tumblers with the stuff you begin to wonder what your liver will look like in the morning.
So instead I went out with the other weekend staff who seemed to want to celebrate my last few days in Bristol. There's an irony in there somewhere methinks.
A week later, I had my first and it sounds crazy to say, only ever coffee with Alyssa. It was hard sitting across from her thinking that she was possibly the only reason to stay in Bristol, but as she went on and on about Morla it suddenly sunk in that she was happy and I had to respect that. Nicole was also sad, but to be honest if I had to stay with her for any longer talking about how perfect Odo was I would have choked on my own bile.
Packing I realised just how much stuff I had and really as I sat in the room I wondered what exactly all that stuff was? I had boxes of books and DVDs and then ever other box seemed to have ‘Misc’ scribbled on it in black marker, I could see I would have fun later trying to find anything.
I suppose I should fastforward now. After a few months of adjusting back to being in Liverpool and trying to find a job which of course came in the middle of the credit crunch, which sounds to me like a type of cereal.
‘Kellogg’s Credit Crunch! Almonds and Honey Clusters in a bowl. You have to credit Kellog’s for the crunch!’
During all this I met someone. And by that, I don’t mean I’ve met someone who is utterly unobtainable and I’ll spend the next few months complaining about how she only sees me as a friend, while discussing her cheating boyfriend. She is perfect and I do hope that I won't fuck this one up. Fingers crossed everyone! She's called Claire and as I say is just perfect. After all the job searching in which I had to sign on, which was slightly depressing, I found a job working in Preston which is about a two hour commute (Never make it easy for myself do I?) and so after over two months of me being braindead by all that travelling I finally decided to bite the bullet...
Why do we say that anyway?
‘Bite the bullet?’ I mean to what purpose would we be biting the bullet for? In its context it would mean 'To do the inevitable despite the consequences', but would biting the bullet be the inevitable? The inevitable in what circumstances? When would you find it necessary to in the end just bite the bullet? It makes no sense. Surely there must be a better example of having to try something that could be bad than that.
Anyhoo...
I decided to bite the sausage (No, doesn’t work!) and moved to Preston. Moving tomorrow and so it’s packing again and if I’m honest it’s been a lot easier as I had most of my stuff already still in boxes. Hopefully it will all be fine.
We shall see...

Introduction

2009-11-21T03:07:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-20T07:51:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-16T05:15:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-06T08:07:00.001-08:00

/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.

It’d finally sunk in. And what is more, not only had she left me, but she’d left me with all of the bills. Most importantly the rent: £570!!!

Ok, it was time for me to take a minute and make a few calculations:

I earned about £1400 after tax

Rent £570

Water/Gas/Elec £80

TV £12

Cable £30

Tax £90

Mobile £30

Total=£812

That left me with just under £600 for debt payment (which will be lowered anyway), travelling, food, savings… hmmm… maybe I needed to move.

This led me to several renting sites that more or less end that thought right there, as the cheapest I could find (Alone, none of this sharing ‘Who stole my cheese?’ crap!) is £430. Factor in Deposits/Fees/Moving Costs/Van Hire etc… Fuck it! I’ll just tighten my belt and stay here. Yes, it might be difficult, but the stress of moving might kill me before I put up the first shelf. I’ll save some money (if I can) and put that towards a move later?

I held my breath (if only I had some Jack to give me some courage) and I called. Linda seemed shocked at my decision until I gave her the ‘face the facts’ talk. Which is this:

If we both move to smaller places we will not be able to keep two thirds of the furniture that we have in this place (worth in excess of around two grand). Now, if I move quite frankly I’m going to be able to take maybe two or three things and then the rest will have to be either sold or dumped. Who would want to buy the couch that seems to be continuously covered in cat hair or the bed that’s broken due to… well… it’s just broken. The huge wardrobe (filled to the brim with her stuff) is actually too big to move out of the apartment and if taken apart will probably never be able to put it back together. Plus… the amount of stuff she has left here, clothes, personal items, stuff from university, school, her childhood, would she be able to store them at hers? No! Ok, if I move I wouldn’t either and in all honesty I wouldn’t want to. Then there’s the cat, Duchess. Linda had taken her in as a favour to a friend who was moving, despite the fact that I utterly hate cats. In time I got used to her, but she was still a pain in my ass who seemed to want to scent mark every single piece of furniture meowing wildly as she did. I’m pretty sure that the tenancy agreement states that we can’t have pets, but as we were never actually given one we always said we could just play ignorant and say she’s simply a housecat. This is one of the few things that is good about her as it means that there’s no surprise dead birds to come home to! If I move, who’s to say that I’d be able to keep her? What would I do then? Cat hostel is the only option really unless we found someone who wanted her and at her age it was doubtful. But… and I tried to make this bit sound like it made sense and it does. If you leave them here then when we finally both get settled properly if she wants she can strip the place bare and take what she wants.

This seems to get through, finally. What I didn’t quite understand, is what she was actually complaining about. As she’d be paying almost £400 less in rent this would mean at the end of every month she’d have £400 in her pocket! Whereas I’d be lucky to finish a month with £100 and that’s with me living off pasta seven days a week. I can see money being a big issue later on, but I have to stick by my guns. I have to keep some kind of status quo while the world crumbles around me, even if it means that I won’t be any better off, mentally I think I’ll be fine. I have to be.

It’s odd now though. I walked around the flat and she’s still here in everything, it’s like I can sense what she would say if she saw the pile of papers I had on the table ready for a few hours of writing. But now it doesn’t matter, it’s all my stuff, my mess, I’ll clean it when I feel like and to what degree I feel like. I ran myself a bath and didn’t have to argue with anyone about the cost. No, it’s my water, my heating, MY BATH! Everything’s always much better after a bath. Well, it would be if she hadn’t taken all the Goddamn bubblebath! I mocked some up, using a few shampoo and bodywash samples and then I just lay there for near two hours listening to Bill Hicks rant about early 90s America. Funny how relevant it all still is. Different Bush, same shitty politics!

Today was a better day.

Day Three

2009-10-30T14:51:00.000-07:00

Day 3

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

Once inside I needed to fill in a ‘Return to Work’ form. Ok,. Funnily enough, there is no box for broken heart, severe depression and comfort eating! I get the usual bullshit about commitment which almost makes me want to vomit blood at the thought and then I broke down and tell them what happened. They almost care. ALMOST. But quite frankly it’s doubtful whether they actually gave a fuck at all as I sat there and poured my heart out, explained how I almost never came back, almost just packed a bag and took a train back to Liverpool, that nothing mattered and that’s why I never came in. That I came in today because there were no other Team Leaders in and so I pushed back my emotions and took on the ‘responsibility’. Did they care? Oh, we appreciate that Mike.’

Thanks for the compassion, remind me of this the next time you want sympathy you evil fuckers!!!

Today/Tonight:

I guess this is as good a time as any to explain my job. I work for a distribution company who supply a well-known supermarket. I best not name it, but let’s just say there are more reasons to shop there apparently. I’m a Team Leader of a bunch of (mostly) idiots who are given the easy task of putting picking sheets on fresh food that is then picked. Of the fourteen people only four are English with the rest coming from Eastern European Countries (Mainly Slovakia, Czech Republic, Poland, Lithuania and so on) as you can imagine, this makes ‘leading the team’ a bit difficult. Though not too much. For the most part they are fine; it’s the English that are the problem!

I know I shouldn’t complain and it is nice to know that people care, but when you get asked ‘Are you ok?’ or ‘What happened?’ and you have to keep repeating the same story again and again it starts to make me even more numb than I am. Everyone is shocked. More shocked than me, which is a little odd. I bumble through the day, trying to avoid conversations, trying to get on with the work, trying to focus my mind on everything but that. It’s not easy. It’s eating me up and it won’t be long until there’s nothing left of me.

Nothing whatsoever.

Chapter Two: Day Two

2009-10-23T01:04:00.003-07:00

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.

Often she would come home, gleefully, telling me about how a rapist or murderer or drug dealer almost had her against a wall. Exciting! What do you think? I soon became desensitised to it, as she would tell me stories of sitting on people, holding their arms down and stopping them from attacking her. Stories of people with concealed knives, of only just being able to shut the door as a maniac lunges at her. What did she expect me to say? ‘Oh that’s nice dear!’ Naturally, I was shocked by these stories. They filled me with utter horror that next time she wouldn’t be in time and every time the paper runs a story on a dead policeperson my gut wrenches at the simple thought that this could be her. I could be reading about her one day and to be honest the way she is, I wouldn’t be surprised.

But it seems she had to make a choice: Me or her Career. And her Career won. Gold medal to the career. I needed to get out of the house.

It’s funny how being alone in a café is so different to being with someone. You begin to notice the sights, sounds-The Space! A cup of tea and a doughnut, but it didn’t help. I kept going over it in my head looking at my phone hoping to see the text: ‘It was just a joke!’ No text. I’d already done the inevitable and texted everyone on my phone. No replies yet. Typical! If it was a simple question like ‘Should I buy the new Seinfeld boxset?’ I’d get several replies almost instantly, but when it’s something important, there’s nothing.

I stirred my cup again looking over at the Brie Paninis that she would have eaten. I’d never again have to sit through her eating something like that, feeling sick to my stomach at the very thought. Approaching the counter, I ordered a Vanilla Slice. I needed the sugar, I needed something that told me I was still alive and only a sick feeling in my stomach could do that.

‘Good News Everyone!’ My phone sounded. I quickly snapped it open and looked.

‘Are you looking for a new phone? Try our new range…’

Typical!

I proceeded to make a mess of myself as I ate the slice, maybe this was it? Maybe it was the way I ate food? My phone sounded again. It was my sister Carol.

‘Seriously. Oh God! I’m sorry. Hope you’re ok. Call if you need anything!’

I hovered over the Call button and then pressed. The conversation that proceeded was possibly the most heart breaking I’ve ever had, I think she was more upset than I was. It was then that it finally sunk in what had happened. Not only had Linda dumped me, she’d also dumped my whole family which (in absence of her own) was probably as close to a family as she’d get. My heart sank at that thought. I hoped this wouldn’t turn bitter, I hoped that I could make everyone understand… but until I understood it was doubtful that that would ever happen.

Walking back was hard. Each step filled me with utter dread. Why? What did I do? What didn’t I do? I turned the key in the door, the bedroom door was closed, but I could hear her inside on the phone. I catch a few words (or maybe I imagine it) ‘inevitable’, ‘all for the best’, ‘had to happen’. I sit and turn on the TV. Numb, numb to it all.

Finishing her call, she came in to tell me she’d be leaving in a few days. That was quick. She starts to tell me the Whys? But I stopped listening. Maybe I should have argued, protested, cried, tried to win her back. No, there was no point? There was ‘nothing’ I could do remember? She finished and went back to the bedroom as I turned back to the TV.

Empty.

Dead.

Day One

2009-10-17T04:50:00.000-07:00

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.

I wrote a book last year called Just Like Starting Over: Based on a True Story.
This book was finally picked up by an agent in September.
But at the moment it really is just a waiting game...
And I hate that game!
I much prefer Hungry Hungry Hippos!

Now really this blog will be extracts from the book and an opportunity for anyone and everyone to comment on it.
You like it, let me know.
You hate, it let me know.

I'll also be writing new entries which will form the basis of book three. Of course I had to write a trilogy. It only seemed fair to do so.

Be as cruel or as kind as you want.

I'll also be updating people on how I am getting on in terms of this long wait in the agent's waiting room... no there are no magazines... and the guy across from me keeps giving me a creepy look!

So sit back and enjoy the ride

Just Like Starting Over: Chapter One

2009-10-16T01:37:00.000-07:00

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-

Just Like Starting Over

Based on a True Story

By David Simpson

What you are about to read is based on a true story.

All names have been changed to protect the identities and reputations of those described.
(Or more correctly to save me from a multitude of lawsuits.)

Day 1

At 3.24 am, my life fell apart.

We needed to talk, me and Linda, it was an ominous statement. She’d texted me earlier and I should have known that something was up. Something bad. Should it wait until the morning or be done now? It was difficult to guess what was coming next, but what did would change my life. Now, I should point out that when she started I had no idea what she was going to say, but as I went through the possible things there was one thing that kept going through my mind ‘What has happened recently that is significant?’ Answer? Linda passed her Police Applications. Only one logical thing went through my mind:

She’s pregnant. She’s finally been accepted into the Police and she’s pregnant. She won’t want to keep it. She will want an abortion.

If only that’s all it was.

I almost laughed at her saying ‘I want to split up.’ It was like being told that we neverlanded on the moon, that 9/11 was a government conspiracy, that we are all descended from a large aubergine. I was stunned, left sitting on the bed, unable to understand what was going on. The past few months had been hard, hell I’d go so far as to say the last few years had been hard, but we came together, we pulled through and I thought it made us stronger. Our arguments were never to the point of ‘I’m leaving’ or throwing things around the room, they were never arguments from out of a typical Alan Bleasdale drama or the Connie/Carlo scene from Godfather. Sure, they were shouting and loud, but nine times out of ten they were about something so petty that we always ended up laughing about it later. I was transported back to my childhood, watching my parents separate for no reason that I could see, or understand. Mum just stopped loving Dad and that’s just the way it was. It wasn’t my fault, but deep down you knew that you must have been a factor… somehow.

But I was obviously a factor in this.

The past year I had become bitter and twisted by my job, seeing no progress and no way out. I wanted to leave, but the money was so good that I couldn’t consciously do it without being accused of being foolish and the sheer idea of dropping all that money to just work a normal job was insanity and wouldn’t exactly improve the stability of the household now would it? At least my shifts were a regular pattern of night shifts 5pm-3am or thereabouts, whereas she could spend a week on nights then a week on days and then a week on early shifts. There was no way of knowing and no way of planning around it, or maybe there was, but she didn’t want to. I got used to working the night time and sleeping during the day, true it wasn’t the best thing, but for over twenty thousand pounds a year who wouldn’t? I mean the average day job here only gets (possibly) sixteen if you’re lucky… and most of them were high management jobs that I could never go for. She never seemed to understand that I wasn’t working here because I enjoyed it; I was doing it because I had to, and because of our debt problems no other job would even come close to covering what we needed. Whether she cared or not, I couldn’t say, but I always felt like she resented me working and to some extent looked down on my job as pointless and meaningless. True, but you could say the same about so many jobs.

I walked out of the room, spellbound. Did I really just hear what I think I heard? I sat on the couch, stunned. I closed my eyes and opened them again. Yes, I must have imagined that, I must have and so I walked back in and she was on the bed curled in a ball, not sleeping, thinking I guess. I sat on the bed and she sat up, I moved closer and put my head on hers as I had done for so many years and I made my last effort, my one mighty swing of Excalibur: ‘What can I do to get you back?’ It was all I had. It was all my energy, all my hope compressed into a ball and hurled for one final touchdown.

‘Nothing!’ she murmured.

I died inside. Everything that I was, or thought I ever would be died then. She could have said anything, anything and I would have done it. She could have said:

‘Eat a whole watermelon, pips and rind and all!’

‘Walk the length of Gloucester Road naked!’

‘Quit your job and work 9-5 in some call centre for half the money!’

‘Stop wasting your time writing!’

‘Dye your hair green!’

‘Join the Police with me!’

‘Sell everything you own to fund our wedding!’

ANYTHING!

But I never got that chance. I never got anything. I was struck out before I’d even swung the bat, so I left her and went to the kitchen. Turning the kettle on I looked up at the cup hooks that she’d only put up a few weeks ago and there it was:

‘To Linda… The Sexiest Fiancé Love Michael x’

And I collapsed like an accordion. It was over! It was all over!

Day Two: Stuff to do!

2009-10-14T13:12:00.000-07:00

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.

You ever get that feeling when you have a 'To Do' list of things that you really should be thinking about doing... and then you have many distractions that will stop you doing them.

Ever gone onto Youtube or Wikipedia and only looked at ONE thing?
It's impossible.
Take me for example...

I write for a wrestling website www.wrestlingaudio.com and I do a thing called Dangerous Dave's Daily Perversions. I'm not proud of it... oh hell who am I kidding, it gives me a valid excuse to look at boobies while I upload...

Anyway... today I uploaded a WWE Diva by the name of Alicia Fox, who if I'm honest I had no clue who she was or even which WWE TV show she appeared on... which lead me to Wikipedia to find this out. Now this should take ten seconds, right? It should be the following easy steps:

1.) Go to Wikipedia
2.) Type in Alicia Fox
3.) Read blurb until it says 'Raw brand'
4.) Close and return to reality.

But it didn't. Infact this is how far I went. From her post I went to

5.) OVW Women's Championship
which led me to
6.) ODB
which led me to
7.) Total Non-Stop Action Wrestling
which led me to
8.) Vince Russo
which led me to
9.) Hulh Hogan
which led me to
10.) Gremlins 2: The New Batch
which led me to
11.) Joe Dante
which led me to
12.) James Cameron

Which has led to me spending almost two hours wasting my time looking at stuff that I really didn't need to. Time when I could have been...oh I don't know, writing??? Doing anything productive! Instead I spent a good portion of my time reading about the reception Gremlins 2 got and what films Joe Dante, Hulk Hogan and James Cameron made!?

Why?

You know what it is? The internet. As wonderful as it is... it's almost the ultimate distraction. I remember as a kid, I was always told that TV or Computer Games were the ultimate distraction. But compared to the Internet, they were just chicken feed.
TV? Sure you can watch it for a while and with 100s of channels it's doubtful you can ever really say 'There's nothing on'. But you got to be in the mood for a CSI or an episode of Family Guy or you need to have seen a few episodes to really understand what's going on in Damages to actually take it all in.
Computer games? You play them until you finish. I mean it's as simple as that. Sure some games have other modes that increase the longevity, but even the best games lose their lustre after a while.

The internet? Not a chance. I want to read a book... I can find one... if I want to find a song... I can find that too... Youtube is such a vast beast that you can type in the name of almost any TV show from...well, EVER and you will bound to find something from it. And then you'll find the tribute to it... or the trailer...or the remix that someone has done.

The internet is one of the biggest problems for someone to overcome if they want to get something done. Even now I want to go check if the email I sent three minutes ago has been answered yet. Of course it hasn't. But I'm still going to check.

Best piece of advice. Not just for writers, for anyone who actually wants to do anything.

Turn off the internet. Just for an hour. Don't worry, it will still be there when you come back. It won't have vanished. Then and only then can you be free of the distraction... unless you then turn the TV on... or find a DVD... or get a call...actually your screwed no matter what... so you may aswell keep clicking...

Back to Wikipedia it is then!

Day One Continued... A Little Experiment

2009-10-13T15:18:00.001-07:00

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.

Obviously, I want as many people to read it as is humanly possible and for everyone who does to pass this on to ten people... it could be ten friends... ten relatives... ten famous people you happen to have on Facebook or Twitter, but have never actually said more than 'hey thanks for the ad'

After friday if you want to see more please comment and request and I'll upload one chapter every week until the day it's shiny and published.
This day will come.

Spread the word!