don't just hover you dirty mouse wiggler, you're in or you're not.
i'm in a rut. a bloody rutting right rut.
i have dropped a clanger which means i spend my days heating up pastry and getting dirty looks by a gnarled old silver fox with knuckles like knotted wood, a silky luscious rasp and a glaze of old hollywood shine that makes him look like he should be raping tigers in the jungle as promotion for his latest chest busting caper. i dilligently do things. proper work things they make us do. but still, he asks me what i'm doing and why, like i'm sliding a curious thumb up his wifes milky legs.
i have to explain what a brunchie is. a lot. (once again....scrambled egg, bacon and beans, all suffocated by a flakey coffin pastry)...which also means having to actually say the word 'brunchie'.
i have to wear a hat. apparantly, no matter how much i position it, or how much i squeeze it, it does not look like a beret. i do not look like che geuvera. i do not look like wolfie smith. i do not look like an outraged french student about to prise up another cobble stone. i look like someone that serves brunchies.
i have no smart shoes apart from my nice brogues. but i can't wear black trainers. so i have to clomp about in my dm's. clompy clop clomp goes the baker boy. clompy clop clomp. here comes the baker boy. clompy clop clomp.
the one bit of pleasure from my day was getting in to watch gilmore girls. i have a quick browse on Dis...oh look, kissinginkansas saying something about tv shows that jump the shark. whatever...i'm off to watch some proper great telly. oh...wait...wait a sec...look...it's norman mailer...norman mailer in the dragonfly inn. norman mailer in the gilmore girls.....hello norman mailer...hello norman mailer in the gilmore girls...what are you doing here norman mailer?
what am i doing?.... i do not know.
until right now.
because now, i'm taking a stand. i'm hauling my work shy, middle class, hovis white, cock bearing, pompous cliche of an existence up from the recently swept floor to stand up. stand up, stand up!....stand up o lucky man, stand up.
tonight i shall scheme, plot, and work out what the hell to do. i will not sleep till i have a better plan. i will stay awake with the story of how jarvis cocker wrote the lyrics to different class etched on my heart (he stayed up all night, the night before they recorded, drunk a bottle of brandy, scribbled away and then fell asleep on his sisters kitchen table) great beautiful things can happen in a night, oh yes, beautiful, ground breaking creative things. things that can cleanse my soul. i will stay up all night until i convince myself that this does not make me sound like tom cruise. i am not tom cruise.
either this or i eat my dinner, have a wank,... bed at 10 to wake at 4.30 for another day of blundering through brunch.
yes this is all bollocks. yes it's waffle. yes there are kids starving in one of those blackie countries with proper bad days everyday and all that..real, genuine awful things....aids..cancer...credit crunch...fly piss on ebony bullet bellies.......piers morgan.....but i don't care...i'm bored of middle class guilt...it's no way to live......so i'm bloody standing up...stand up! stand up!.