Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Wednesday 24 June 2009

Today I wake up at 2.30AM with the Big Brother live stream blaring out on my TV while my bedroom window next to it sits wide open giving my entire complex a good listen in. My neighbours must love me.

Emerging into Wednesday proper I find myself confronted with a sweaty demeanour and early discomfort. These days are definitely getting warmer.

Staggering around my flat I pull myself together and actually manage to get out on time today, always a bonus. Unfortunately once more as I step into my car it remains stinking and once more I find myself reminded just what a distinct failure my life is beginning to resemble.

The walk to the station is tough this morning as I again crave further sleep and further rest before I finally pass out through exhaustion.

Arriving at the platform at Colchester station it is all new faces it seems. Where do these people come from?

On the train a weird looking couple sit opposite me straight from the Colchester take off. For the entire journey one of them sniffs their way through proceedings although whenever I look up I can never quite tell as to which of them it actually is. Part of me thinks/suspects that the sniff may be something that they share and swap like a baton during a relay race. She looks 60 and gormless and he is a shave headed gorilla from some backwater several years her junior. I suspect that if we ever got into a fight it would not be clean and he would use the tactic of biting. She also looks like she has not had an orgasm in years and he looks like he hasn’t seen his dick in years. Towards the end of the journey she gets the last laugh however by stepping on my new shoes as the train pulls into Liverpool Street at 8.06 late, not that these drones notice. They never do.

As I stagger from train to tube at Liverpool Street yet again there are charity people with their rattling buckets and wacky clothing ensemble. I’m sorry but I cannot possibly imagine a time in which people are feeling less charitable as they fall off their commuter trains on their trudge to work at jobs they hate. Rethink.

Sitting on the tube it is opposite some skanky Asian bird who I find hot. Unfortunately as she gets off at Kings Cross the carriage judders and she winds up almost falling on top of me and stepping on my new Airwalk shoes. What’s the fucking deal dude; did these new shoes come accompanied with bullseye targets on them?

Sometimes I wish terrorists would hijack my tube just to bring a bit of excitement to proceedings. I of course would bash their brains and save the day in the process. Truly it could be my making.

The reflection that meets/greets me as I enter the restaurant today is an optimistic one. Moving forward.

Today is the sad anniversary of the death of Tony Hancock. Over the years his real life has taken on as much legend as his radio and television persona. I truly love this man and his work, he really was a revelation to me, never so explicitly had been miserable and bloody-minded so funny. In many ways it made it all right to moan for humour for me and how failing at a task can be just as worthwhile and fulfilling as accomplishing it. The sad reality of his personal life being so dark is a tale that will sink any ship and relates to a number of problems (insecurity, alcohol dependence) that can hit any person in any walk of life. Sadly it made the man so tangible and easy to associate with and therein lies I feel the reason why he was so liked, he managed to hone his undeniable talent into a form that really struck a nerve with people regarding the human condition in the most concise way. All comedy owes everything to him.

Officially for me these days the day does not begin until The Girl is in and today she happily trots in at 9.13 oblivious to this. Maybe I should buy her a watch for her birthday, I wonder if she can read hands?

It turns out to be a slow morning. I accomplish some stuff but not enough to fulfil me spiritually. For lunch I have lemon chicken and fries, a sure-fire sign that I am not feeling too self conscious at this time.

Opposite to the morning I find I have a great and productive afternoon although beginning to look at the work on the new company that we have outsourced to the man with the cane it appears to have been done quite incorrectly. I can’t really criticise the guy that did the accounts because these are difficult, fiddly and very involved accounts to do – it is a tough system we use/run. Ultimately it is looking like to put his figures straight/correct it will take more time to do than if we had just done them from the start. This I predicted as soon as the idea was first suggested/floated.

For some reason I find myself wanting to read PG Wodehouse books today so I send out a Facebook request for recommendations. That doddery old fucker Hough responds with a Wikipedia derived bibliography. That I could have provided myself.

Also other peaks into the internet unearth that the new Woody Allen movie Whatever Works doesn’t have a UK cinematic release. That is rubbish.

After leaving work the tube this evening is incredibly hot and sticky in which I begin to melt and wilt. As it get announced at Farringdon that the train will be stopping at Moorgate (and not Liverpool Street) we exit en mass. Boarding the next train the man rocking this train’s mike (black Information Jimmy) sounds as if he is having a breakdown while driving the train. All in all it makes for a tense three stop journey.

The train ride home on the 6.20 Norwich train is slow and laidback moving as if the driver is stoned. As I look out at my fellow commuters I see a blonde Aryan guy fresh from his day in the city crushing Muslims and Jews that looks like somebody who I went to school with who did indeed act like an Aryan back then. He is so fucking important.

When I get back to Colchester it is with a genuine sense of relief. Briefly I stop by my parents place at Balkerne Heights before heading home to Bohm Grove where I watch Larry David guesting on Jon Stewart before eventually passing out watching a boring documentary about NASA.

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