Good bye Evel Knieval, good bye, Sir. With your all in one all American flared suit, your hundreds of broken bones, your gorgeous, heavy, Harley, your Sky Rocket, Canyons, busses, wind up toys, your idiotic drawl… may you live on in Piqued?
Well maybe yes, for on Saturday afternoon, driving Frank and his ragged old sofa to the dump, in true Evel fashion I threw caution to the wind and drove my white van under a ‘don’t come under here if your vehicle is taller than blah blah blah’, and ripped off half my fucking roof rack with a shattering crunch. A fan wandered over, I rolled down the window. He gave me one of those looks, you know, a ‘you’re a cunt’ looks and suggested I should’ve have entered in the entrance without the low slung metal cross beam. I turned the van round and exited the same way as I’d entered removing the rest of the roof rack with a horrendous clanging crash.
Frank and I re-entered the dump, dumped the sofa, which we’d collected from his flat some 2 hours earlier and left. After rounding the corner from my fan, I sheepishly removed the remnants of the roof rack and left them in a lay-by about 20 yards from the entrance to the dump. Fuck it; I didn’t fancy getting mobbed again.
The weekend had started quite well, a few pints with Frank in the pub, fish and chips for dinner, which may well have been made out of hot carpet, I couldn’t taste a fucking thing still, but later an awful serious of anxiety attacks corrupted my Friday feeling into that of fear and loathing. I tried going to bed before 1am but I couldn’t sleep, in retrospect I’m quite sure this was the cold making itself known to me in sobriety, I’d barely had 3 pints, but it was an experience I am happy to forget.
On Saturday evening after visiting my pfolks to collect a sofa from theirs and dropping it at Franks, I arrived home exhausted, my cold still raging with concerns that I’d fucked my back up again. Myfwt came over and we caught the tube to Clapham Common to meet with some friends. By now I feeling like a compromised colostomy bag and was in no mood for social too-ing a fro-ing, in under 2 hours we had to go, Myfwt was starting to feel the first pangs of my cold and I knew that unless I rested up the working week was going to be as dreadful as the one past. Even now the bastard is glued to the inside of my tubing like a kebab shop plughole.
Sunday began mid morning after Myfwt went off to visit her bro. Due to the most ridiculous rainstorm I am ashamed to say I drove to the local shops in order to procure bread and newspapers which I devoured in front of Scrapheap Challenges with a kipper thrown in for good measure. I did some writing then jumped back into the bloody van (I didn’t fancy riding in horizontal cross winds) mid afternoon to visit my sister, bro-in-law and niece, who I’d not seen in weeks. She’s grown so much, her face has altered from the little blank canvas of puzzlement and worry into one of perpetual surprise and she’s a lot more able to interact with the world about her, this was evident by lots of fat chuckles and other sorts of shit, essentially, my beard which she found strangely intriguing.
I left late pm and got back home within the hour, the wind howling all the while. Shortly after James arrived to pop round for a cup of tea and chat. He’s recently become a dad so popping over for tea and a chat is as good as it’s going to get for a while… though we did manage a few spliffs. Bad daddy.
Myfwt arrived later and we had supper and watched the last appalling instalment of the Long Way Down, in which my WWM prophecies came true regarding Ewan’s bloody wife, prior to retiring to the sack.
I’m in the most fucking awful mood this morning, look down there instead.