A Shit Week By Anybody's Standards

Monday 6th September
Itchy back. Still seething over the drubbing I got at Texas Hold Em poker at the weekend. In at work for an OK shift that finishes at 7.30pm.
Accidentallly get sauced on expensive West End lager with my brother. He tells me they're remaking The Toolbox Murders. Why would they do that?
He's speaking to me again now I've cut all my hair off. He has Ponytail Copyright you know.
Kate has begun an eight day stint working with Puppets - so I won't be seeing much of her.
Tim Henman is no.5 in the world & is doing OK at the U.S. Open.

Tuesday 7th September
Itchy back. Hangover.
Tim Henman still doing good at the Open. I think about getting Sky Sports for the week then think Nah.
I'm on the OK shift again which includes Working Lunch (a bloodbath of a show), during which Adrian Childs (the presenter) really pisses me off, but, due to it being one of the few shows I work on which bears my name in the credits, I refrain from rolling up his scripts & inserting them up his anus without a lubricant.
Delays on the Central & Northern lines means it takes me an hour and forty minutes to get home where I have no food and nothing's on the telly.

Wednesday 8th September
Itchy and slightly sore back. I may have a spot.
On an eleven hour shift in News 24. Working in News 24 is like being slapped constantly with a dead fish. You need two brains, eight arms and a big bag of crack to get through the day in there. Think Battle Of The Somme.
After work I accidentally get sauced with Toby. He tells me they're remaking Assault On Precinct 13. Why would they do that?
We drink cheap Tooting lager in a pub that, astonishingly, yet luckily, doesn't have the England match on. We discuss Nazi memorabilia and our favourite horror films. His seems to be The Entity. Mine is Magnolia.
Henman is winning his quarter-final. I go to bed.

Thursday 9th September
Very itchy, very sore back. Hangover.
Another day of the mind- butchering, shear blind flapping of News 24.
I get to see Kate after work as she's had a day off from the Puppets. We drink tea and she inspects my back & says it's not a spot - it may be some kind of allergy-rash. She asks if I have changed my washing powder lately.
I have. Just last week I had changed from Persil to Ariel. This may be the answer.
Henman's into the semi-finals. I go to bed.

Friday 10th September
Itchier & sorer back.
I have the day off, so I tour the charity shops but come back with nothing but a couple of Thunderbirds books from Scope. I dump the Ariel and buy back into Persil.
As I reach the point where wearing a shirt hurts and I can't sit back on the couch - I give up and go to the doctor.
'Shingles' he says and washes his hands.
'Shit' I say.
This takes the edge off my happiness at Tim Henman's imminent appearance in the U.S. Open semi-finals.
Shingles? Isn't that some kind of 18th century boil infection spread by unclean villagers? I just hope that, during my contagious period, I at least infected Fiona Bruce.
I keep ringing the Cats Protection League re a replacement for my recently deceased cat Planet (I'm so glad he didn't have to see me like this). The CPL have already been round to check my flat is 'suitable'. But I'm dealing with freaks here. They want me to give up my job if they give me a kitten.
'You work full time?' A gentle voiced woman says on the phone. 'It's like having a baby - you must be there all the time'.
No, it's like having a fucking kitten. I'm going to call it Clusterfuck and let it sleep in the washing machine. Screw charity - I'm going to a pet shop.
I try to go to bed early, but waiting for a big pizza keeps me up.

Saturday 11th September
Seething boil-infested back.
Up at 4.30 am trying to smear Calamine Lotion on unreachable parts of my back.
My 4.50 cab is late and I get to work just in time to find the decent coffee machine is broken and nobody seems to be trying to fix it. This is heavy news when your going on air at 6.00 am for four and a half fucking hours. I debate whether to tear the canteen guy to pieces.
I get slapped around in News 24 all morning - it's the anniversary of 9/11 - so that's a laugh - and by the time I get home I'm ready to kill somebody for no reason.
Luckily The Professionals with Lee Marvin is on and it calms me greatly, even though I have to watch the whole thing without leaning back on my Boils.
Following this Charmed is on and they're all off to some Valkyrie island so they have to get dressed up in leather to blend in. Nice. Very distracting. I go to bed immediately even though I was going to stay up and watch Tim Henman on Teletext.

Sunday 12th September
Up at 4.30 am again, Calamine Lotioning my rancid back. I had woken up at 4.25 then gone back to sleep and the alarm went off at 4.30. Why does that happen?
My Taliban cab is on time but I have to direct him all the way to White City. He's lucky I don't throw him out and drive myself.
I get through the News 24 experience relatively untainted - except when I find out Henman's got dumped in the semi-final. It seemed harsh. I wanted him to win a Grand-Slam that wasn't Wimbledon, just to annoy people.
I stop at a book fair on the way home. It's crap. It's all hard backs and grown-ups. I feel a tad out of place and get the hell out.
I find a rare John Creasey and The Solar Invasion by Manly Wade Wellman on the way home, so it isn't a complete waste of time.
Kate's still off with the Puppets, so I Calamine up and watch TCM's western weekend for eight hours.
Rio Bravo, The Naked Spur and The Searchers all back to back. I was going to stay up and watch Unforgiven too, but I was depressed enough by that point. My god, so much killing.
I buy a box of American Perry Rhodans on Ebay and go to bed.

And that was my week. It's Monday now. I still have Boils, I don't have a kitten - but Tim Henman is N0.4 in the world.
One day I will look back on this week and vomit.