biomorphic

A week off: an opportunity to step back and assess my altered situation. What have I gained? Answer: guilt-free daytime TV (I never had a working TV in my room before). It’s true that all human life is there. As soon as I wake up (late) in the morning I’m getting simultaneous broadcasts from both extremes of society. Homes Under The Hammer features people who can actually afford to buy property; meanwhile, on the other side, unselfconscious lowlifes are battling it out on Trisha. (Or, if Trisha’s pretending to care gets on your nerves, there’s always Jeremy Kyle, where the emphasis is more on keeping them in line.) Then there’s Douglas Sirk melodramas in the afternoon. Deal Or No Deal. Watching daytime TV is a full-time job. Or, more accurately, I wish it was.

Housemate Dave went on holiday to Canada, and was instantly replaced by Rhys, from Cardiff. Since he too has done time with Mat at university, it came as no surprise that, half an hour after they went into Brentwood to do some shopping, I got a phone call from the pub. ‘Join us. We’re going to drink our way back to the house.’ An attempt which had to be abandoned when it was understood that there really weren’t any pubs on the way back to the house, unless you took the scenic route. We ended up in Sainsbury’s. There’s something about being even slightly drunk in a supermarket that makes you feel at odds with life. Who are all these strange people in my way? What do they think they’re doing?

Mat’s protein shakes haven’t yet altered his physique - only everything else they come into contact with. Brown particles adhering to pint glasses, to the sink. Where, unless viciously expunged, they take root and grow into globules of synthetic flesh. Mat’s goal is a Bruce Lee torso that can be used to attract ‘shallow women’ in nightclubs. Even if he fails to achieve it, his insides should be something to see.