24 Apr ’06: Last night went to Kino to see ‘Hostel’, a teen-slasher movie with a difference. Hunky young US students go to Bratislava in search of gorgeous pouting babes.
They end up in a derelict isolated warehouse which has been converted into a torture chamber – some kind of hunting lodge for rich weirdos – and two end up so very very dead. Just think, all the crazies would be able to go there & not bother the rest of us.
Before hitting the silver screen I popped into the Ape and Apple for a quick lager. The pub was full of people celebrating St George’s Day, wearing red roses and singing en masse (ffff):
“God save our Gracious Queen….No Surrender to the IRA!”
Surely many of these people would oppose widespread immigration by Muslims, but at the same time would support invasion of NI by GB troops. How odd.
24 May ’06: It’s Wednesday morning; from the window of my lab I can see the car park of the kitchen showroom, and a young man is eagerly directing the actions of a FLT driver who loads kitchen appliances onto his lorry.
The lab is double-glazed, so i cannot hear any of their yelled conversation; besides, the radio in the corner of my lab is playing something by Panufnik, something eerie and charming with an insistent repeated piano note. It reminds me of Bowie’s Warsawa, bleak, remote and grey. The vertical blinds at my lab window divide the view into neat coherent stripes of drama.
It’s Wednesday morning, and I strain black paint through a nylon-1,6-polyamide mesh to filter out glass beads; they gleam like wet pearls, like caviar, like the cobra’s eyes that hide behind The Story of the Eye, like huddled atoms of night.
The lab is double glazed; nobody can hear me as I scream, and besides, the radio pumps out bold stripes of silence that billow round the room. They remind me of a song that had no name, by Prince, exquisitely devoted to the gay. The vertical rays of the third moon penetrate the curtains to reveal red wine in an empty glass.
: Georges Bataille – insanely sick and perverted, kinkily depraved novelette
10 Feb ’96: More fun with Singh at work; he called Mick and Mike into the office and told them to work at the weekend – ‘We can do this the easy way or the hard way’, and has been clomping round on the warpath demanding full cover at weekend.
When Naz told me that I would be required for weekend work I asked for written confirmation that my w/end duties consisted of cleaning and carried no payment or time off.
He refused, saying ‘there’s no need because this is a one-off and you won’t be asked to come in again.’
Anyway, we all ended up being kept back Friday night for 1 hour.