I made an effort last night to get to bed earlier. Rather than staying up into the small hours and catching up on S3 of Downton Abbey, I decided to try and sleep, with a podcast of course. They’re always effective at helping me to nod off. Maybe, having made a thousand of them, my body, to keep me from the pain of recalling how labour-intensive producing each show was, sends my body into hibernation mode. It’s a little frustrating as I still love listening to audio and ‘back in the day’, I could spend hours in bed switching off and listening to one show after another before eventually dozing off.
Late this morning, I made the mistake of reading up on DA actor Dan Stevens. There are so many performances to admire in the show’s early years, even if some of the storylines have shown a drop off in quality, that I was curious to know where his career is now. Apart from the dramatic weight loss – he’s lost thirty pounds now which is apparently equivalent to three chins – within a minute I’d happened upon the biggest spoiler possible relating to him and DA. That’ll teach me.
What’s clear, and I always find this fun, is charting the cosmetic enhancements of British actors once they try to crack Hollywood. The veneers, the body transformation at the hands of some expensive personal trainer probably recommended on the set of some show they worked on. Basically, they abandon that normal look for Hollywood and it’s a little disappointing.
I was up early this morning and even double socked, it felt like my feet were encased in blocks of ice in the flat. I spent five hours catching up on admin – which included another gig being cancelled owing to a Christmas function now taking place in the venue – all of which was a countdown to a dreaded run in a snow-covered park.
Wearing 5 tops, 4 bottoms, two pairs of socks, gloves, a balaclava and a hat, within moments of stepping into the park, I was greeted by a large, melting snowman – the scarf suggests it was snowman but it looked more like a giant snowball by lunchtime. Having grown up in south London, one thing you learn early on in these streets is you don’t pick up snow from the ground. The snow round these parts isn’t white for a reason.
Prior to reaching the café, I dropped off four books at the library across the road as I try to scale back the number of borrowed books to something manageable. I’ve now started reading the first of the Christmas books I borrowed last week. Often, these aren’t very good – it’s a bit like having to endure watching the football on ITV - but they’re fun (unlike watching the football on ITV) and help me to tap into the Christmas spirit that doesn’t come easily to me. I’ve been taking this approach since making my 2014 daily advent calendar. After being estranged from Christmas for so long, I found this helped me engage a bit more with the festive period.
This week’s gig. Tickets here.
I had a quick chat to The Beard in the café, no easy thing given SW8’s most formidable throat clearer is in here right now. She appears oblivious to the level of her throat clearing. I hope she lives in a house with thick enough walls otherwise her neighbours must have a difficult time with the throat clearing. I know she lives on her own as her husband left her years ago. I’m not saying the throat clearing played a part in that. I know this simply because Lopez’s mum knows her and once introduced me to her, a familiarity I sought to shut down as soon as I could. Without being given that info though, I think I’d have arrived at this conclusion myself because there’s no way the throat clearing would be at this level if a partner was on the scene. There’d have been a few rows about that, regular reminders to curb the audio levels, and so on. Living alone, the throat clearing would’ve just grown to its present level rendering the throat clearer undatable.
He lamented Portugal’s loss on Saturday and it means the café takes a big financial hit on Wednesday with both Portugal and England out. Personally, and I say this with a Moroccan strain running through the maternal side of my family, I continue to find the media coverage of African football patronising.
It hasn’t improved since 2010 when we were all meant to be rooting for Ghana as they progressed to the last eight. I’m all for getting behind a plucky underdog, but not just because they’re an African nation. And I know enough about that part of the world to know that Algerians, to give one example, may not be happy their rivals have made it to the last four. Growing up in London, I have numerous friends of Nigerian and Ghanaian origin who aren’t going to be happy Morocco have made it to the last four. Sure, they might want an African country to win the World Cup, but their preference would be for a sub-Saharan nation country to do it. Take me. Before Spain finally buried their Italian football hoodoo at Euro 2008, I struggled with Italy winning various tournaments or progressing further than Spain. The Beard, just now, confirmed he wouldn’t want Spain to win a tournament rather than Portugal just because they’re neighbours. So why do we assume African countries are different? It’s maddening.
I remember back in 2010 the brilliant broadcaster James Richardson, on the then brilliant Football Weekly, taking issue with the widely peddled line we were all behind Ghana at that World Cup. Twelve years on, UK broadcasters are at it again. I suspect that’s the case in other parts of the world too.
In other news, one of the wafting swing saloon doors leading to the loos is missing, meaning entry is a lot smoother and quieter, but visually, the single swing saloon door makes for a curious spectacle.
I’m here for another latte and a half. This first one, for some reason, is a little off today. I’ve got some cold spray on my neck and a couple of pills in my system after pulling a muscle trying to get the balaclava on for the lunchtime run. The pills haven’t quite shifted the discomfort.
Sat by the retractable doors, I can feel a slight draft on my left side, but nothing like the cold back in the flat. Prior to ordering my second latte, the Mullet and I have an 8-minute World Cup-heavy conversation which includes a minute on Uruguay and how a small nation that should be feted for its contribution to football and winning two World Cups with such a tiny population, will again be remembered for being bad losers.
I have felt a little low over the weekend. I think it’s career related. When I was young, I remember being at a few parties. I would’ve been in my early to mid-twenties, but it’s something that’s always stayed with me. You’d get chatting to people at the party and when they found out you were a writer, they’d often tell you they had been an actor, or some other type of creator, but by then, and they couldn’t have been past their early thirties by then, and they had packed in their dreams and settled for a normal life with a family and kids. I never quite understood that. I think for the true creator, it’s impossible to give up on that passion you have for creating. Sure, you can settle down and have a partner and kids and that might make things trickier, but had I given up, I would’ve missed out on some success (and failures of course) and I wouldn’t have been the same person. Yet every now and then, you of course question if you’d have been happier had you been happy with settling for a normal life.
Last night saw the completion of the Star Wars Football Christmas Cup Quarter-Finals. A double from veteran striker Stormtrooper saw Empire finally overcome ‘plucky’ new boys Canto Bright 2-1 in the second leg, while a titanic battle at Sandy Lane saw holders Death Star, 19 seconds from going out, grab a late equaliser to force extra time against Tattooine, unbeaten for an astonishing 53 games. With extra time failing to produce a winner, the game went to penalties with Death Star finally emerging deserving victors 7-6. Inspired by captain and former Tattooine legend C3PO, Death Star now travel to Empire for the first leg of the semi-finals tomorrow night, while tonight, the two favourites, Bespin and Hoth face off in Cloud City.
The Beard brings over my second latte. I briefly wonder if The Mullet had asked The Beard to bring it over for fear our just-finished 8-minute exchange might resume. I think that would be harsh. We were both culpable in that conversation going on for that long and to be fair, I don’t think there were any awkward silences. It did end abruptly, mind you. The Mullet, unable to find a segue to help him wrap it up, simply asked if I wanted another decaf latte.
It took me a while to leave the café tonight. It was getting late and with my OCDs, I try to say my nightly prayers, which I’ve been saying ever since I was 4 – I’m a creature of habit – before 6pm. I tried saying my prayers as I packed up all my stuff and tried to limit the lip movement in case any staff or the few customers in there would wonder what was going on. I struggled to wrap up my prayers and was subtly crossing myself as I handed over my coffee card to get stamped.
A Nectar Points update before I leave you. I haven’t given you one for a while. A £4.62 spend this evening in the Nine Elms Sainsbury’s added 4 points to my existing balance of 352. My spend included 4 pints of fresh semi-skimmed milk, these days going for £1.65. The Long-life cartons have gone up 10p, and with the current Jacob strike not showing any time of ending soon, and budget crackers scarce everywhere, I had to pay an extra 15p for Sainsbury’s own crackers. These rises are a disgrace. I hope that when the country turns a corner, supermarkets will be honest enough to bring these prices back down.
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