F O U E T F O L L E
Mr. Klein, The Cooler, Die Blechtrommel, Ein mörderischer Sommer (mit Isabelle Adjani!)
Un chien andalou, L'age d'or, Millenovecento (Neunzehhundert), La dolce vita, 2046, La Strada, Gardenia, Diva (sunglasses at night), M - Eine Stadt sucht einen Mörder, Der Zauberberg, Der dünne Mann, Noch ein dünner Mann, Ein glückliches Jahr, La fille Irma La Douce, Black Moon, A bout de souffle, Leoparden küsst man nicht, Nosferatu, Paper Moon, The Grass is greener (Vor Hausfreunden wird gewart), Naked Lunch, Tirez sur le pianiste, Don't look now (Donald Sutherland), Der Kaiser und sein Attentäter, Lolita (von Stanley), Bichunmoo (Das Geheimnis des Meisters)
L'ecume des jours, L'arrache-coeur, Elles se rendent pas compte, L'automne à Pékin, L'herbe rouge BORIS VIAN; THéophile GAutier; Günther Grass; Sarah J.T. Leroy; OsCar WilDe; Modeste Mignon Honoré de Balzac; Alfred Jarry - 'pataphysicien
Shit. What a holiday weekend.
Jesus supposedly rose from the dead on Easter Sunday. I felt like I was doing the same, this morning.
Sunday was always going to be a big day. Graeme and I had arranged to meet in the pub around midday, do lunch and take in FIVE games of football, before moving on to some other bars in the area.
Graeme invited his friend and flatmate Toby to come along too, which I wasn’t stoked about. The last time he brought one of his friends along, the guy was a bigger downer than the two of us put together. I now refer to him as "Captain Buzzkill."
Toby was alright though. A nice guy. The buzz remained unharmed.
We had agreed to hold off on the booze til 4pm. Of course, after one latte for Graeme and one Pepsi for me, we were somehow sauce-bound by around 12.30.
Bad idea.
I’d skipped breakfast, intending to order a big pub lunch and line my stomach for the day’s....festivities.
Of course, lunch never materialised. Neither did dinner. Infact, I was 100% booze-powered for the entire day, running on lager and tequila alone.
The day was full of ups and downs. By the end of it all, things had pretty much turned sour. I think I must be one of those people who hit a brick wall with the drink, and it’s all downhill from there. If I’m not in good surroundings with the right people, things just tend to go pear-shaped.
I came home around 3am, decidely worse for wear. Why is it always the case that the lift is out of order, any time I really, really need it not to be? I remember pushing the button and grumbling to myself when the elevator motor didn’t whirr into life after three or four presses.
I remember getting back to my room somehow, getting online and proceeding to write email after email to positive people around me, trying to pull them all back in, probably in some kind of selfish attempt to purge myself of the negativity of the day and restore some sense of balance and wellbeing in my life.
I really need some kind of complex password system on my computer, something that is too tricky for me to work out when I’m wasted.
That oughta hold the little bastard.
Monday was spent feeling bad, but not necessarily unwell. Eventually I went to the shop around the corner for 4 bottles of juice and one ice lolly, such was my dehydration. I walked the streets of Camden, wondering why it was so quiet and subdued for a Sunday night.
Then I remembered it was a Monday.
I suppose the whole thing yesterday was a send off, of sorts. I’ve been worried about my health for a while, and have been wanting to try to sort myself out. Unfortunately the draw of having a few pints and a laugh with my mates was always too much to deny. Big G is starting work at a new bar this week, working 5-3am most days, and 3-3am on weekends, so he wont be around so much anymore to lead me astray. Not that I needed much leading. I think it’s a great opportunity for me to seriously cut down the sauce and get my act together. As good a chance as any.
I have to go now, I am starting to feel physically sick at last. I will speak to you all later.
Gonna do it right this time. Gonna get it sorted out, get off it for good.
NJ "The Sickboy Method" McLean xxx