VIOLENCE IN ULSTER. With worse to come, I expect.
It would be fair to say that I’m enjoying The Rainbow more than I did before.
Freddie’s getting up now. I’ve had breakfast and all that lark. Time for work, and I so hated it yesterday. I was irritated + pissed off beyond comprehension. And the day went on for ever. I’m running out of new, entertaining things to think about and everything goes bloody wrong for me there anyway.
What’s been occupying my mind lately? Well, when I’m there, sorting pallets, I think a bit about Doctor Who, my upcoming holiday, The Rainbow, next term at college, getting away from the yard as quickly as possible…
I think about BATMAN a heck of a lot.
Today and tomorrow to go and then that’s it – over. But it’s just dragging + I wish I could focus on thinking about other things, rather than ‘oh god, how many more hours have I left?’, but I can’t. I really hate being there. It’s not the actual physical work that bothers me, it’s the accompanying boredom. And then there’s the lack of any achievement after all that effort. I get money, sure, but no feeling of… satisfaction. Nothing.
I don’t want to go, but here I go again.
Doesn’t time drag on?
'Sheep Farming In The Falklands' - Crass
ONE DAY TO GO!
ONE FER-UCKING DAY TO GO!
HEY-HO, MY BOLLOCKS ON SHOW!
ONE FERUCKIN’ DAY TO ---
Work can nob off, cos it’s shyte. It really is fucking someone’s shyte. And what kind of people have I been working with other than Freddie? A manically depressed secretary who walks as if she’s shat herself; a geriatric, oversexed deaf man; a yodelling lunatic; the gittish nephew of a Doctor Who stuntman, a vain and a rather thick Freddie Krueger fan who insists on playing Elvis tapes, and so on.
Letters from Flash and Donna Davidson. Can’t be bad. I’m nackered. GOOD NIGHT.
Oh, Astra DID come over and do my hair and she’s still as nice as ever. And tonight’s episode of ANYTHING MORE WOULD BE GREEDY was even better than usual.
It’s a damned fine series.
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Next time: ‘Losing my mind…’