07/02/07
Drama on the way home (a vent) (Long and short versions) -
Categories: News -
Ray Peacock
@ 01:40:10 am
Long Version
Yeah the gig was fine thankyou.
Southampton University, pretty run of the mill and uneventful, did my best, didn't get distracted, everyone laughed and then clapped at the end, blah-di-blah.
I am enjoying doing driving at the moment because of my new Tiger car. I have decided to call it a Tiger instead of a Tigra because every time I say Tigra somebody will always say "That's a girl's car" even before they have seen it. Then they see it and say how cool it is, and that it isn't a girl's car after all, particularly when the roof is down, but the damage is already done by then, so to nip it in the bud I am referring to it as a Tiger.
So anyway, I am driving home in my Tiger, mulling over whether to stop at the services for a wake-up-wank, when I remember that there is a podcast on my Ipod that I want to listen to (it's a Kevin Smith one). So I reach over to the ledge behind me (or the "secret compartment" as I am insisting on calling it) and grab my coat, reaching into the pocket for my Ipod and finding nothing.
Fucking nothing.
I check the other pockets, but there is already an impending sense of doom. I bought this coat late last year because it looks a bit like the outfit that Luke Skywalker wears in The Empire Strikes Back, but the thing is, the inside pockets are as gaping as (insert popular slaggy celebrity)'s foo-foo, and I tend to lose things from them. Yet I keep insisting on using those pockets for expensive items like my phone and my Ipod because I am stupid.
I tipped out my bag onto the passenger seat, just in case I had put my Ipod in there. Nope. Loads of junk in there stretching back about 9 months, but no fucking Ipod.
I was starting to get upset now - which for some reason made me drive faster, despite the fact that it was starting to snow. Snow is lovely when you can lean on a window ledge and watch it fall, but it's a bit shit when you are bombing down the M3 in an increasingly bad mood. Dangerous too, I believe - you have to keep your wits about you and drive extra carefully. And concentrate. I got to the point where I was starting to go over what songs and downloads I had on there, what pictures and movies I had stored on it, dreading the thought that they were lost for good. Then I started to get upset by the fact that my iTrip was also attatched to it. That's what I was concentrating on.
I pulled over on the hard shoulder.
I know you are only supposed to do that in emergencies, like if you had a flat tyre or if you and your lady friend simply cannot wait, but this was feeling like an emergency, and the swirling snow was only adding to the drama. I thought that it may have fallen out into the bit behind my seats (my phone fell out there once). It wasn't fucking there...I was doing that really moody thing that I do. If you don't know me in real life then I do this really moody thing where I go dead serious and start moving around fast and ocassionally kicking things. I also lose any semblance of patience.
The other week, for example, I started to spill a cup of coffee in my new car (the day after I got it) because the stupid Coffee Nation machine had filled the cup too full. I was still at the services when the spillage occurred and I literally threw the cup across the forecourt. Didn't just tip the excess coffee out onto the floor - I threw the fucker. Like about 10 metres or something too, but I get a red mist. I am 95% certain that one day I will kill whilst in one of these moods (that is not a legally binding confession should I be suspected of it).
So anyway, I am on the hard shoulder of the M3, getting into more of a state, and texting Christian Knowles (the booker of the gig) to ask him for the venue's telephone number as that is the only other place it can possibly be, and getting angry with myself because there is rubbish in my car even though I had vowed to keep this one clean, and cursing the fact that a gig I did as a last minute favour is gonna end up costing me significantly more money than I got for it when I replace my fucking Ipod. I had to keep stopping rummaging in the back of my car because lorries were flying past on the inside lane really fucking close, so I had to lean over and sound my horn and shout "cunts!" after them.
I have learned that it is very important not to bottle these frustrations up.
The rest of the journey is spent in a fucking seething mood. If I had been carrying a passenger I have no doubt that they would have politely asked to be let out of the car at the services and taken their chances getting home off their own back - possibly even on foot.
I imagined some fucking Southampton student celebrating at finding an Ipod with ten thousand brilliant songs on it. My fucking songs! The ones that belonged to me! And all rude pictures and stuff to boot as well. And then I imagined that they hadn't even enjoyed watching my stand-up, and hadn't laughed or clapped or anything, and they probably turned to their friends and said I was shit, and now they were sitting listening to my Ipod and feeling very pleased with themselves for not having to pay hundreds of pounds for it.
Then I imagined torturing them for being dishonest and not handing it in and seeing how great they thought it was then.
I got back to my house, looking on the floor outside, just in case it had fallen out of my jacket when I very first got into my car - but it wasn't there. It wasn't fucking anywhere.
Except for on the ledge by the side of the door.
I'm a fucking tit, but you'll be glad to know that the stress of that journey has probably taken five years off my already limited lifespan.
This post has been far more for me than it has for you.
Short Version
I did a gig and thought I'd lost my Ipod, but I'd just forgotten to take it with me.
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