Tuesday, April 07, 2009

Tuesday 7 April 2009

Waking with a headache this morning, I feel wounded (and hounded). I still have my parents’ Fiesta which in itself represents another headache.

As I board the train this morning I notice the gorgeous lady with beedy eyes and a small face already aboard. I have no idea what her story is or might be just that she is one of the most attractive commuters that heads out of Colchester. I would imagine there is some Asian blood in her elsewhere.

In contrast to this the lady that eventually winds up sitting opposite me looks terrifyingly like my ex-boss’s American wife – cue ‘Nam flashbacks. The sight of the doppelganger reminds me of how the woman (the wife) in her role as HR let me down. When I handed in my resignation I don’t think the Baker Street boss even acknowledged what I had said and done and eventually it was his wife who I had to go to in order to get wheels rolling on my exit from the company. On the outset of the minor inquisition featuring myself, her, the boss (her husband) and my manager (Clare Balding crossed with Lynn Benfield from Alan Partridge) she told me she wished I had “said something sooner.” Perhaps. Then however the company wilfully decided to hold up final paycheques causing me to have to chase it and my P45 up well past month end (and mortgage going through the bank time). I half expected the fucker to bounce. So yeah, these bad memories are what congest my mind on the way to work this morning.

I guess it is with a strange expression that I find myself thinking about these things as in a moment of clarity I notice a couple of people staring at me (or at least exchanging eye contact). For the remainder of the journey I find myself and the beedy eyed lady exchanging glances but I suspect half the times I look at her it is in an effort to work out whether she is asleep or not. On her side of the deal she is probably wondering “what the fuck is that guy’s problem?”

Finally the train pulls into Liverpool Street and no longer trapped in my cramped seat I am freed from my thoughts. On the tube platform I notice a very attractive lady reading American Psycho. She ticks so many boxes for me but I allow another potential wife to leave my life as I make no moves/gestures (but what could/would I have done anyway?)

As I get off the tube at Baker Street for a split second I see who I think was/is the second in charge at Baker Street, the boss that I was joyfully informed by my manager there that he was in AA (a comment of great hypocrisy on her part). This guy today looks ravaged but its not him which is a relief as I would have no idea how to react to the man now despite always being a big fan of him, unlike a number of other individuals at the place such as the glorified middle management put in place for decoration.

This morning I am into work first thus giving me alarm duties. Whoever thought I would have such responsibility.

Worryingly the sig file has disappeared from my work email which usually tends to indicate a virus has hit but it also twitches paranoia strings (such as the IT guy having a root around my machine).

Today I have a big day of big work planned but annoyingly soon I find myself getting pulled off management accounts work and back onto audit work. I make my frustration visible.

In the afternoon thankfully things come together despite my achieving the least of both worlds.

Our boss however is chipper as he discovers wi-fi and the ability to use his laptop in our office which ends his day happy. As a result of this he lets us leave early for a second day running.

Despite being offered early doors instead my boss grabs me for after work drinks. It’s a fairly good brisk session but when conversation gets onto the subject of the Ali vs Clay fight some of us realise that things have gone on a little too long.

I end up drinking Wild Turkey after my boss has gone. Eventually I leave the restaurant at 8PM on the dot with things heading towards messy.

On the tube I find myself listening to loud music in an effort to sober up while also perving over a red cheeked blonde Chinese lady. My music of choice is “Red Medicine” by Fugazi in the hope that the straight edge lyrical content will guilt me into sobriety. It does not work. As the tube nears Liverpool Street I am treated to the sight (but not sound) of the Chinese girl chattering out loud non-stop at her friend seemingly in the midst of some kind of angry rant. That or a bout/attack of the tongues. The more she rants the less she appeals to me.

Finally on the train home I have to go piss twice (but only once do I flush in a station) while wrestling with Facebook on my iPhone.

Upon returning to Colchester I stagger up North Station Road starving, seriously tempted by a kebab. However feeling bloated I decline and display some willpower for once.

As I near and reach the olds this coincides with dad taking Bobby for his nightly walk. The dog is really happy to see me but hard to deal with when I am feeling wobbly on my feet. Ultimately I wind up staggering around my parents place at 10PM at night unsuccessfully subtly hinting that I want something to eat. No dice.

Hungry I head home in my car listening to 606. When I arrive home my Coke Bust seven inch has finally arrived and it is a magnificent piece of vinyl, they are the greatest hardcore band I have come across in many years.

Having read my Facebook status updates Nina begins sending me text messages seemingly in a co-effort to talk me down and generally chit chat but tonight I cannot cope with any more texts and such technology.

Instead I tear into the brown pitta breads that have been lingering unopened in my kitchen since the weekend. I wash four of them (two toasted) in fake butter and half a jar of cheap peanut butter.

Afterwards I head to bed to resume listening to Danny Baker before eventually passing out listening to selections from Q-Tip’s last album (or so my Last FM account tells me).

In the middle of the night I wake up dizzy and with a headache. Next to me I see a bottle of orange juice that I promptly down in the hope of reducing the risk of an inevitable hangover in the morning.

Roll over.

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