...the ' One Day In History ' project :
Today is wet and colourless. I fear the leaky kitchen roof may cave in. I need to tidy my room. The rudimentary plans I've made for the day have fallen by the wayside. So I did not have lunch and go for a clifftop walk with a girl who, until very recently, I've had a bit of a soft spot for. Nor am I going for a game of squash at five. It is a nothing day. And - as such - the perfect day on which to take a snapshot.
I spend a lot of nothing days hanging out and talking rubbish with Surf-Film-Maker Chap. We get dosed up on caffeine, analyse our present situations, and detail plans that will never be seen to fruition ("Tomorrow, let's become captains of industry!" ). SFMC's present situation usually runs along the lines of 'My girlfriend is grilling my aggots because I've spent too much time recently surfing/seeing friends/carousing; and not enough time showering her with attention/eliminating third-world debt/washing-up'. My present situation usually goes something like 'How can I inverse my polarity in order to attract women/money/happiness in general ?'. Our situations today are typical.
Today, he’s working in the surf shop in the village. So I pick up some croissants from the Londis around the corner, he puts the kettle on, and we proceed to decorate the counter with flakes of puff pastry.
Lemonsquash : For some reason, I have 'For The Longest Time' by Billy Joel in my head today.
SFMC : That’s a worry.
Lemonsquash : Yup. SquashFM is a scary station. [sings] Wooah oh-oh-oooah, For the longest time…
SFMC : Stop fucking singing that.
It is clear that we will achieve nothing today.
He asks if he can come to my house in order to microwave his lunch. So we hop into his van.
Lemonsquash : What are you having ?
SFMC : A plate of some shit or other.
Lemonsquash : Sounds delicious.
[I lift the foil-covered Tupperware container to my face]
Lemonsquash : Mmmm… That sweet feculent whiff.
SFMC : Feculent ?
Lemonsquash : Yes.
SFMC : What does that mean ?
Lemonsquash : As in faeces. Shit.
SFMC : Feculence. I like that word.
Lemonsquash : There’s no shame in being a word nerd. Words are sexy.
SFMC : But I get more sex than you.
[I feel my brow furrow]
I am planning to move away pretty soon, and I’ll miss days like this. The shop has next to no customers, so the conditions are optimal for indulging in the type of poppycock that – given the right chemistry – you can keep up ad infinitum.
Lemonsquash : Somebody recommended honey rum to me recently. That sounds nice.
SFMC : Yeah, it does.
Lemonsquash : They also recommended licorice ice-cream. That sounds turbolush.
SFMC : Ur, no. I can’t stand licorice.
Lemonsquash : Really ?
SFMC : Yuck. Sperm.
Lemonsquash : Possibly harsh. But you’re entitled to not like it.
Some days you leap out of bed, and know that you can wrestle the world to the floor, and give it The People’s Elbow for good measure. Slightly hungover Tuesdays shrouded in lacklustre sky are not those days. They are days on which to keep the kettle going.
