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JOURNAL
November - 2017
Extracts from, It Fell From an Unknown Height


I watched my first television advert today in two years. I'm not sure if it's just me being overly sensitive to such presentations on things the tv thinks I may need or if it’s just simply down to the fact that I am getting older, but television advertisements for every-day consumer items that more often than not, the aged and female population amongst us seem to purchase are presented to us in the manner of an adult explaining the ins-and-outs of something to a child. The latest advert for an electric toothbrush, denture cream, comfort soles, and period pads – all explained in explicit scientific detail through a puppet sounding slow talking adult, ‘Now, look what happens when I pour this liquid onto the pad – see there, the micro-metric-bubbles help turning your stuff to gel … do you see it? Would you like me to point to it for you – here comes my point and wavy underlining graphic and fluorescent arrows.’ I lie. The arrows weren’t fluorescent, I just like the word.

Luckily for me, the channel app on the television has an aversion to such things too and randomly decides it no longer wants to work. It simply pauses to a grey screen. No images. No sound. Just me sitting in my chair looking at an empty silent block of 48-inches of grey. I sit for about five minutes staring at it. I’m intoxicated by the silence, that is, until it’s broken by the ruffles and scratching of our newly appointed house-mate mice. I have three traps set and not one of them has gone off. I also purchased some special food to put in the traps that mice supposedly find irresistible. It smells like shit. I think the mice must think the same.
I could re-start the channel app on the TV and resume programming but that would mean having to sit through advertisements again. The clocks went back one hour the other day. Every clock in the house has been reset, save for one – the large green clock in the kitchen/lounge.
I stole that clock from the Inland Revenue. I got a casual job with them when I was 21, in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. The warehouse was stacked with tax files. Sometimes I would sit for extended periods on time in corners where no-one ever went just simply doing nothing. Sometimes I would sit for an hour on the toilet, the odd echo of a closing door in the distance reminding me that I wasn’t the last fucking man alive. I often felt like the last man alive in that warehouse of tax returns. I liked the feeling of being the last man alive. When the electricity in the flat just cut out and everything turned off, I imagined we'd all decided to push our red buttons, but unfortunately it was simply me forgetting to put a pound-coin into the meter.

I’d like to say that something terrible happened to me in that job but simply put, my boss was a bit of a shit so when my casual contract was up, I took one the government issue clocks. It is the only clock in my home that I haven’t put back one hour.

For two days the missus has come down and freaked for a second upon thinking she is late for work.

I smile. I smile like a Disney bad guy having just seen the seeds of his sinister plan come to fruition. I smile like the bad guy in a Bond film thinking he’s clever, sat in a chair, framed beautifully by a giant wall of grey.

I suppose I should go wake her up.