Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Wednesday 27 May 2009

Dream: I am hanging out socially with Stevo, Ivan and Seymour from Butt Road. We are all attending an NBA exhibition game being held in Colchester curiously. We all get on really well as time appears to have mended wounds. However as the game begins I am unable to get a ticket and I find myself being left behind by the other three. Perhaps this is how I view how our worlds and lives have panned out.

I wake up OK this morning, not great but adequate. Movement is a combination of swift and sluggish, counteractive and contradictory.

As I leave and head towards the train station once more yet again a car comes out of its drive and cuts me up before proceeding to slow me down in my progress to work. As I follow I watch both windows emit bellows of smoke and scraggy hands regularly popping out of the windows flicking cigarette debris into the road. Scum.

The walk to the station is something of a slight chore this morning. Yet again kickboxing this evening was not even a consideration this morning as I got ready for the day ahead. At the station “our” (the regulars) section of the platform is full of yet more new faces. Where the fuck are they all coming from?

I STILL feel uncomfortable off the back off the Brazilian’s comments. This is the kind of shit I have never been able to learn how to shake off.

Reading The Metro I see that National Express has a 90.5% record for trains arriving on time. I would be to differ and as a result it makes me even more interested as to what the time we arrive this morning will be. On cue we get in 8.04 routinely late.

Into work and the day begins badly when my boss gets slightly bolshy about the April accounts being prepared, firing unnecessary ultimatums at us in the process. It’ll get done, it always does.

Today is an embarrassingly windy day for me. I suspect this is off the back of consuming a lot more vegetables than usual.

The day consists of me working fucking hard trying to put a horrible mess right. I believe in the building trade this would be described as “made good.”

At the day rolls towards its inevitable conclusion the boss makes a subtle hint towards our working late as he proceeds to begin working on the audit at 5PM. This suggestion is welcomed by something of an evil scowl from all involved in our office and an uncharacteristic negative response from myself that harks back to the early days of my career and the attitude (problem) I would exhibit. The problem is that tonight is the European Cup final and some of us are pretty excited about seeing the final football match of the season. Needless to say none of us working stiffs stay any longer than we have to, much to the personal and professional disappointment of my boss I suspect. As Nora leaves on time he jokingly refers to her as a “part timer” but you can sense a subtle feeling of betrayal and disappointment in the comment.

When I get to Baker Street and change tube lines for a second day running I see an old Baker Street acquaintance. This time it is The Korean, the person who really ran our “team”. She doesn’t see me I believe and it’s a relief and probably for the best. If she had seen me I doubt she would have acknowledged me anyway. I have to say though I do slightly fancy her still.

On cue I catch the 6.20PM Norwich train home and on it I see my cousin Sean that is always an awkward encounter. I think only three of us in my family (extended) have only ever had to wear suits on a regular basis and he is one of us. The only time he has really approached me with any gusto was one Saturday night in town when I was knocking about with Bella and she and I had just performed some kind of split up. It always terrifies me acknowledging him.

I get home in time for the Manchester United v Barcelona European Cup Final and the game is pretty poor as Manchester United choke. Somewhere you suspect it is possible money exchanged hands and at the offset you actually hope that there will be trouble just in order to liven proceedings up.

When I get home to Bohemian Grove there is still no sign of my Vice Magazine subscription reaching any kind of reality. I email Vice Magazine to see if there is a problem.

Home I catch the arse end of this week’s Apprentice and it is Luke Skywalker being fired. He was rubbish anyway, he looked like an unfortunate teenager and was apparently homosexual, which I suspect may not be in Sir Alan’s mould/mold.

It turns out now that there are four wimmin and just the gormless bloke left for next week’s penultimate show and the always excellent job interview episode. By this point I bet one of them is already pregnant despite there not being a looker amongst them. All five of them, they’re just rubbish.

After falling asleep at the wheel (watching TV in bed) I reawaken at the end of the season finale of series 2 of The Wire and the Steve EarleI Feel Alright” montage/sequence. I remember the first time I saw this and how it truly blew me away and now it still gives me goosebumps. For weeks (maybe months) afterwards “I Feel Alright” became a permanent fixture on my iPod and a true inspiration tune to help me face my days working at Baker Street and enduring the Central Line every morning.

On that high note I resume sweet dreams.

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