Thirty Thousand Streets

Sunday, March 12, 2006


This week I was working out in Sawbridgeworth, in deepest darkest Hertfordshire, which was neither very deep or dark. It actually became a royal pain in the ass, as I had to get a bus, tube, then train to get there; a total of two hours travelling time.

It was sort of strange working in a little village, as living amongst the litter and pigeons in London tends to make you forget such places still exist.

I mentioned on someone elses blog how despite being assailed by a blanket of media hype surounding the Arctic Monkeys, I had as yet managed to avoid hearing them, with the prediction that the next time I worked in a studio where they played the radio I would be inevitably hearing it on heavy rotation.

This prophecy proved true, as the studio I was in had Radio One on constantly. I'd forgotten just how much the inane twittering of daytime radio jocks annoyed me, and this week was an unwelcome reminder. Flashbacks keep coming back to me: Jo Whiley talking to the Sugababes and complimenting them on how 'raw' their new tune is. Really Jo? which bit were you listening to? More needling yet is Roy Walker's guest spot on lardarse Chris Moyles show, but the most irritating of the lot have got to be JK and Joel, who used to terrorise Manchester with their spot on Key 103, have now been given the keys to the gun cabinet with their vastly annoying stint in the afternoon. They're basically the Chuckle Brothers of daytime radio, except less funny - a fact amply demonstrated by their tedious 'remix' sketch where they take an old tune and create a hi-energy dance version of it. It's infinitely worse than it sounds too, and serves as evidence of how music can actually function as a torture device.

Anyway. Other than that work was OK. There was too much of it on Friday for my liking however, and being the type of guy who's only recently graduated to chewing gum and walking, was less well managed than I'd ideally hope for. I prefer to know where I'm up to with everything, and have a manageable workload, or else nothing gets done very well - which I hate.

Saturday went for a curry at Clapham Tandoori, and then a 'polite' party afterwards in Clapham South. This meant music - (but not too loud) drinks (but no drunks) and a general absence of hotel trashing antics. Fun enough though I suppose.

Sunday was Round 2 of our interviews for a new flatmate, with two guys who were both really nice. I got outvoted over the one I prefered, but It doesn't really matter. In the end it was getting slightly irritating the amount people were vascillating about it. Just make a decision for fucks sake..

It was also St Patricks Day, so me and Ade's evening consisted of finding an Irish theme pub in the West End, drinking stout til we couldn't see, then passing out in the fountains at Trafalgar Square while wearing those krazy Guiness hats people wear on such ocassions.

Actually no, we just went to the Sun and Doves, where some girl group calleed Inside 65 were performing. They were pretty good too.

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