Monday, 20 October 2008

Sunday October 19th

For the first time in a long time I woke up on a Sunday morning knowing that I had to go and do a 'proper' job on Monday. As such, I was determined to make the most of the day. My plan started poorly, as I didn't get out of bed until nearly 10am. On rising, I pulled a pair of jeans on over the pants I'd slept in, put on a slightly kebabby T-shirt, and headed for the big sofa.

The left hand- side of the big sofa is a multi-use space. I use it for TV watching, hangover-recovering, surfing the Internet (Porn, Facebook, Facebook Porn etc.), eating meals (that do not involve gravy) and thinking about death. The relentless pressure from my frame has resulted in a degree of ongoing tectonic activity, as the left cushion is gradually subducted beneath the right cushion. This has had the effect of creating a small, uncomfortable, mountain range, near the destructive plate margin of the left cushion/right cushion boundary. Conversely, the constructive margin, situated at the left arm/left cushion boundary, has developed an ever-widening, remote control-swallowing, trench.

I stayed on the sofa for most of the remainder of the morning. For a period of over an hour I desperately needed the toilet. Almost as much as I desperately needed to not do anything as rash as stand up and walk to the bathroom. As I get older, I increasingly find myself balancing my need to do certain things, with my desire to conserve energy by not doing them. This ranges from big things, such as going/not going to the gym, to little things, such as whether to brush my teeth, or to opt for the less labour-intensive rinse with mouthwash, which I typically combine with urination (clear evidence that men can multi-task). On this particular occasion I eventually gave in to the demands of my bladder, but not before watching all 27 laps of the MotoGP motorcycle race that I had recorded (I was in a fair amount of pain as early as the warm-up lap), and walked, bent double, to the downstairs toilet. The mouthwash combination was not an option, as the Listerine was in the upstairs bathroom.

At around midday I made brunch, and settled down to watch both rugby matches that Sky Sports were broadcasting, resolving to 'do something' after the second game. Following the second game I made a rather good Sunday dinner which, as it included gravy, we ate in the dining room. As the weather had taken a turn for the worse, I decided to postpone 'doing something' until another day, plumping, instead, to sit on the sofa and watch three NFL games back-to-back. I have loved American Football since the first time I saw it on Channel Four in 1982. Little did I know, in those halcyon days of the sixty minute highlight package, that eventually the glamour and razzmatazz of the game would directly influence me. That I would be living la vida loca. By regularly spending ten hours on a Sunday, sucking the marrow out of life. By watching TV in my underpants, on my own, in my living room.

By three in the morning I would have had to admit that, despite my early best intentions, this Sunday would, once again, be added to my 'Days I Could Have Spent More Constructively' file.

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