Its payday tomorrow!

I like Fridays best, because I get paid £some for doing some work. This in turn means I can either ignore the whole shonky fiasco that involves doing work properly. Yayness, for it means it is pub day too.

I've just been discussing interior decorating with regards to shelving. Which, despite the banality of the subject, somehow descended into quite a heated discussion. Impressive, as ever.

And now I'm listening to Boston's More Than A Feeling. I've spent much of the evening listening to Jimi Hendrix and Biffy Clyro. But thats all about to change, because House is on Channel 5.

I like House. Hugh Laurie is an amazing actor. Apparently, many of the American viewers were convinced he was from the States instead of jolly old Blighty like many thousands of wonderful folk throughout history.

The first place I encountered the amazing talents of Mr. Laurie was in a British television show called Blackadder. He had mainly bit parts in most of the seasons, but he had a larger role in a later season as Prince George(I think it was Blackadder III but I cant be certain.)

He also has a cult following from other shows he did with another stalwart of British acting, Stephen Fry, in the Fry And Laurie Show. Basically a sketch show, it also included musical comedy snippets from Laurie, being as he is an accomplished musician on both piano and guitar.

A truly amazing actor. He has been known to occasionally appear as a panelist on comedy quiz shows too.

I'm sitting here watching House, sorting out my friends shopping bill and typing this up. In the front room, there are Harry, Vicki and Katie over by the TV, me at the computer and Podboi sitting on the other side of the table from me.

This may be an OK night. We might even break out a game or 7 of Halo on XBox Live.

Anyone up for it?

Saturday Superpub

After spending much of my Saturday morning and afternoon with my eyes shut on the sofa, I got a phone call in the early evening.

Olev: Yo, King Garry I, are you coming to the Grove? Its a mate of mines party *squawk squawk, etc...*

King Garry I: I dunno man, who's all going to be there?

Olev: Loads of people man

King Garry I: Fuck it, why not.

Olev: I'll come up and see everyone before we head off.

King Garry I: Sorted

*click*

Fast forward to 7 15PM

*knock knock*

King Garry I: Olev! You had your hair cut!?

Olev: Nah man, its just the way its tied back

*usual boring chit chat*

So we go to the pub, we get Colin down, Sam is there and so are Katie and Tasha. I'm thinking it should be a laugh tonight.

How wrong can one person be about one night?

First off, it was a shit party in a shit night, shit music good music played badly was played by an old man with a guitar that wasn't plugged in, and some little arse faced little toss pot who kept doing TERRIBLE covers of amazing songs. He tried to cover Radiohead, Pearl Jam and other such giants of the music industry. The little wanker.

Then the main act came on, and they were 100% wank. Proper hardcore shit. I mean you think you've heard shit? You've heard nothing like shit until you hear whatever 3rd rate name was given to this 5th rate band. Band is a very strong word. Collection of musical retards is more accurate, I feel.

Anyway, so we do our best to ignore this shit all night, and Colin left at like 10 30PM or so, which was bad, because it just got funnier and funnier after he left. Some people that Sam and Olev know called Sorren and Finn(I'm guessing the spellings, I didn't get to know them that well. Seemed jolly nice fellows though)turned up and were just all chatty and whatnot. Good stuff.

We all left at around 12ish because it was that bollocks. Waste of a night, in my opinion.

SUNDAY

Sunday started like every other weekend. Woken up by Vicki putting baby Katie in my room/the living room, thus ruining my lie in. But Olev was there. Added plus or what?

Me and Olev left at noon and we set off for Sam's house, but just as we got to Sam's we encountered Sam's mum Pauline so we accosted her for a lift to Sutton. Classic tactics. I needed jeans and t-shirts, for I have none of either. ASDA and Matalan. Hardcore clothes shopping.
Whilst in ASDAs conversation turned to cooking and dinner. I happened to mention my liking for cooking. So I was bullied into making my world famous Broccoli Chicken+rice for 5 and some veggie burgers for Sam's other half. Sorted.

I am now well in Pauline's good books. I haven't been round for a couple of years and the first thing I do is cook for her. Whereas Olev only ever goes round to scrounge. That's the norm for poor poor Olev. I'm now "the good friend" and am welcome anytime.

Boo, and indeed, yah.

So, to summarize: Saturday was shit, Sunday was the nuts.

Oh, and on Sunday night, I was covered in cookies by Charlotte. Specifically, cookie crumbs all over my bed/sofa. Which made for an interesting moment when I woke up for work. Specifically a thought along the lines of "What the shuddering fuck am I doing covered in fucking crumbs?" until that dawning moment of realisation when I remembered what happened the night before.

Its a fucking magic show at this house sometimes.

Do you believe it in your head?

I'm going to just throw caution to the wind here and tell you about my state of mind in a very very general term.

Wobbly.

Sometimes I'm 100% coherent, other times I talk complete and utter bollocks.

Last night, for instance. I got home from Sim's house at around 9 30PM and sat down. Harry was off to the shop and asked if anyone wanted anything. I responded in the negative.

"WAIT A MINUTE!" says I "I could use a Christmas tree complete with ornate Norwegians wearing fairy lights and a large bag of potatoes to replace the fairy."

Something along those lines, but the key elements are correct.

Later on, I proceeded to tell everyone else in the flat about the Finnish builders on the roof who are installing a giant may-pole for the festivities in early June.

I worry about me on occasion.

However, in my more normal frame of mind, I can focus and just crack on with solving a cure for cancer AND the common cold should the mood strike me.

Today at work, only me and Darren were working because everyone else are lazy bastards and don't work bank holidays.

I sat in the van at 7AM(7AM!!!!!!) and put all the work in order, sorted out which ones were avoidable, how to get from one road to the other with minimal travelling time and at approximately what time we'd finish.

I was damn near spot on with the time, bang on with the avoidables and even though I forgot to factor in cafe time I was home by 1PM.

All this at 7AM. Normally at that time, I'm busy wondering if I'm wearing wet socks or wet shoes or even any shoes. You'd be alarmed at the frequency of this. Normally a bacon sandwich at JB's cures this, but even he was shut this morning due to a sodding bank holiday.

We had to drive all the way to Brixton for petrol and back into Streatham and Tooting for the work.

WHAT AN EPIC FUCKING MISSION

Still, even with private jobs and first cleans added on to the time factor, we were only 20 minutes over the time I thought we'd be done. So that was OK.

What made it even better was making £20 on the sly and "doing" £300 worth of windows in one day. This means that For working 4hrs today(Law Of Window Cleaning #1: Never leave the cafe before 9AM) I'll have made £70.

And yet, I'm always, always ALWAYS skint.

How on Earth does that happen?

Today's discussion, class, will involve a thought that I hold within my head, and will most likely end up on a completely different subject, as is my way.

Lets begin with the mundane. The British Weather.

Last Monday, the reports were saying rain. And rain it did.

I was informed on Tuesday, that it would rain. And it did not. Similar stories for Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. With each day being hotter than the former.

Up and down ladders in the blazing sunshine and then carrying said ladders is not good. Bring on the dehydration.

It was so hot that even the birds had decided to go for a swim.

I cannot stand heat waves. They are up there with anti-semitism and William Shatner on my "Hate Things" list.

THAT'S ANOTHER THING!

I was drunk a few Fridays ago with Harry, Vicki and Charlotte and we watched Star Trek. An episode with some Nazis in. I saw William Shatner dressed as a Nazi. It was my two biggest hates coming together in order to fuck me up for life.

That made for an unpleasant, yet very watchable 50 minutes of televised entertainment at 3AM.

On that Friday, we played the Game Of Life. I was sat there with all 3 of them, and they'd unanimously declared me(for the purposes of the game) gay. So I had a civil partnership with a chap named Cedric. Instead of children, we adopted small breed dogs. And for some odd reason, they were all called Muffy. All 8 of them, or however many it was.

Memo to self: No more getting tattoo's when hungover. Its not a smart idea.

I've been listening to a fair bit of Dad Rock recently. Some David Bowie, Lynard Skynard, Blondie(how cool is my dad?) and a fair whack of hard-core punk.

INTENSIVE

I'm off on holiday next month. 4 nights at the Combe Haven on the South Coast of England. I'll wave at Vanessa from there and see if she can see me. Should be a right laugh down there. 12 of us. Harry's dad and his offshoots in one chalet and 6 of us in another caravan. Harry, Vicki and Katie sharing one room(Katie being Harry and Vicki's baby), Podboy on the sofa bed thingy and me and Charlotte sharing a twin room.

Christ, this will all be terribly terribly interesting.

Lets hope the weather sorts itself out in time for my excursion to Hastings.

Dilemmas.

Do I choose a life of no prospects, no promotional options but lots of money doing a very very physical job, or do I swap careers and go to work for a major automobile company with lower pay and longer hours?

Do I stick with the shit I'm not really up for. Every morning, I wake up and I go and stand waiting for a van to roll up and I climb in. Once in the van, I'll be moaned at for something, and then we'll head off to the cafe. Cafe time over, I'll get to work. Work involves ladders. Heavy ladders. Or a light ladder, a bucket of water, money handling, navigational skills and stupid pig ignorant bastard customers. To be honest, I'd rather drag a heavy arse ladder all over South London then deal with 50-60 knob heads every day who argue over what they did and didn't pay. Tossers.

Or

Do I go for the shiny new exciting career with massive job prospects, an industry that I'd prefer to work in, but on a far lower wage than what I earn now?

If I stay with my current situation, I'll be working with 1 of 5 other blokes for a long time, one of whom is my future brother in law, and the longer he pays my wages, the longer I'll resent him. Which can do no good for my relationship with my sister.

If I move on, I'll be meeting lots of shiny exciting new people with similar interests(up to a point) as well as working alongside one of my best friends.

Reading back on this, I can see that moving on would be the better option, but its longer hours for less money.

Is money really all that matters? What about a better quality of life? Working closely with a very good friend, in a job that I'd doubtless prefer, in a nicer area for nicer people.

To be honest, this major automotive company is looking better and better.

Currently, my day to day existence involves the heavy work that was noted above, followed by being absolutely knackered from clambering around window sills that are rarely much wider than an A4 piece of paper. I fall from great heights regularly, from sliding ladders, window sills and, on one memorable occasion, shoe laces tied together whilst halfway up a ladder. That wont happen if I'm working on the floor at all times.

I should probably learn to drive soonest, I may even get a flash company car if I do shift on.

All I need to do now is secure an interview with the right person.

Maybe I should learn German so I can speak to Mr B. M. Dubbleyoo on a more personal level.

This could be destiny, oh sweet charm

I was up a ladder the other day, speaking to one of my work colleagues. We shall call him Marv, for that is his name. Anyway, Marv wants to be a superstar DJ. Drum and bass, specifically, and he really is very very good at it.

Given my love of music, and his love of drum and bass, the subject was bound to come up at some point or another. It was then that he asked me something I'd never really thought about before.

"Who is your favourite band?"

Anyone who has spoken to me for more than 5 minutes while I listen to music can attest that every 30 seconds there are shouts of "Oh my, these guitar-weilding fellows really are quite spiffy, what what?" or words to that effect at least.

I've been playing with this question in my mind for a few days now. Taking certain things into account(just how shit are the album tracks they dont release? etc..) and lining them up against other factors (how many of their songs do I like?) and I've came up with an answer. I'm not going to tell you who, because that would ruin the magic.

I love the singers voice, the use of the guitar, the constant tempo changes in the songs. The elastic basslines, the diversity of their songs and even their videos. The way that even I, a somewhat untalented musician, can play their songs and that they even sound amazing on an acoustic guitar.

Wunderbar, etc...

I'd tell you who it is now(for the magic has died) but I have to go out. You'll just have to wait.

Good Lord, I'm compelling.

I fell off a ladder again, but I missed the rose bush

I have returned from the wilderness of South London to write for you once more, albeit on a largely more sporadic frequency than before.

As it turns out, my original plan of working in a pub stalled slightly after I was offered another job. One which I instantly accepted and I have been doing for a week and some days.

I sub-contract Window Cleaning jobs from my brother in law and off I stroll with a ladder and a bucket of soapy water. Yay for me.

It means that I start at around 7 30 in the morning, finish anywhere between 1 30pm and 3 30pm, and collect missed payments on a Wednesday and Thursday afternoon. Easy job, you may think.

There is such an art to the whole shonky affair that I'm a little bit hazy on the mastering of the skill. The basics are as you'd expect; water goes on, water comes off; but the rest of it is vastly complex. Far too boring and hard to explain without demonstrations.

Everyday its a new thing, someone new to work with in the mornings in a new area. Interesting characters at the houses, sometimes.

Monday morning, 9 30, house 136 on the road, number 3 of the day. Lee knocks on the door to collect the money. A man sprints out of the house wearing not much more than a smile and into a car and off into the distance he drives.

That pretty much sets the precedent for the day.

According to some I've worked with, I've started at the right time. Beautiful sunshine, warm days, no rain and most importantly, no cold weather. I work out doors all day, and sometimes you strike gold and you get a really fantastic customer who gives out drinks and is just a good laugh to talk to. But those are few and far between.

On the busier roads, it pays to be on the taller ladders washing the bedroom/bathroom windows, that way you get the most amazing views of many things. The surrounding town, the streets below, the cleavage of the passing beauties. Lots of good things, basically.

The morning tends to kick off with a cooked breakfast and organising the work between everyone who also sub-contracts. After that we all split off into teams and head in different vans and different directions to get on with the work.

Those mornings in the cafe are such massive laughs. All the lads sitting around taking the piss out of JB the cafe owner or each other. Such a chuckle.

Anyway, because its Wednesday evening, I have to go out again to do a spot of debt collecting. I shall see you all later, the number below has been cocked up a touch. It accepts incoming, but not outgoing calls for some reason, so I have to go and swear at "Darren" or whoever at the Orange network shop in Sutton.

Cunts.