Friday, July 24, 2009

Friday 24 July 2009

I didn’t think I had to get up today but then I remembered I did. Welcome to another Dante Hicks Day and another of course set to “I’m not even supposed to be here today.”

I wake up feeling disillusioned today. Yesterday ultimately proved eye opening and costly in many departments and it is just so apparent now that things are working out for me they way they are.

With that in mind this really now should be the time to scratch my head consider what now needs to change. It is now less than a month until I turn 33 so really that should serve as some kind of milestone and beginning of action.

Today as the news fills with swine flu fever and panic when I awaken this morning will a different kind of headache and after my friend last night told me that this was one of the main symptoms of what she had and thought it may have been the swine flu I can’t help but feel some kind of concern.

The walk to the station is a blur, with my mind focused on other things it becomes of inconsequence.

It’s another Nick Cave morning as I think I begin to understand what the “Abattoir Blues” mean.

On the train today is a Chinese girl with luggage and rolling eyes. She has the saddest expression. She also has bags under her eyes as well as her arms. I wonder just what she is doing and what she is about. My imagination suggests she is some kind of immigrant brought over by The Triad to work in a restaurant or something but the reality is that she is just some piss poor student on the march somewhere.

At Chelmsford a weird looking bald guy reading “The Liar’s Poker” pulls out a raw carrot from his bag and begins chomping on it. Isn’t that like the most disgusting thing you could possibly ever do on a train? He has an RBS bag and wooden cane/walking stick but no wedding ring. Connection?

Luckily also at Chelmsford the Lady Gaga wannabe boards and she is much more fun to look at.

Elsewhere on the train I watch as the Chinese girl attempts to sleep standing up. This doesn’t really work out for her.

My journey from Shenfield onwards proceeds to involve some cunting woman crowding the seat next to me and nudging me in the ribs with her ample elbows all the way. In response to this I turn up my iPhone louder with the noisier selections from “Harmacy”. I truly feel like nailing this bitch with a stanch elbow in her own side but accepted social conventions tend to indicate and dictate this as being something of a faux pas.

As the train pulls into Liverpool Street I am listening to the latest live set by The Jesus Lizard that Chunklet has put up on its website. God bless Chunklet, Henry and all that sail in her. These sets are blowing my mind; there is a buzz from these performances that I have not felt from a band/music in years.

I believe the train is actually on time this morning but pulling into a different platform to usual I am unable to notice a clock as I am still more concerned/focused with the woman from Shenfield continuing to poke and prod me. I’m not supposed to be here anyway.

The tube journey is nondescript and when I pull into work it is to the deafening strains of “Then Comes Dudley” and with Nora sat on the balcony waiting for somebody to let her in.

As we trawl upstairs it is to the sight of the big boss perched at his desk and with us being the first people in he hands us each a couple of coffee he has bought for his crew. This tends to be a good omen and positive sign for the day.

Once settled in I check my email dreading something from the consultant but luckily there is nothing.

Shortly afterwards my boss comes in says “morning” seemingly checking up on me to see that I am not in a mood and quickly I apologise for scarpering last night.

Unfortunately soon the consultant is on the phone and the expected/anticipated email hits along the lines of finishing off the work from last night.

Before this however I feel the need to send an apologetic email to Angela for last night along the lines of “it was me not you.” Later she responds in an understanding motherly manner and it gets put down to just “being one of those things.”

Soon the day reaches lunchtime and I find myself still pulling things together on the accounts. The problem is that I am not just adjusting the figures I am also trying to set up systems and controls spreadsheets on Excel.

When lunchtime arrives I choose ribs and chips with the king prawn starter in order to dip the fries into. This indulgent dish combination is a surefire indication that I am feeling sorry for myself. That said I wonder what the poor people are doing for lunch today.

As I stuff my face and put the closing adjustments onto the accounts once I have emailed them off to all the respective parties I go downstairs in an almost euphoric manner.

The afternoon sails out with me basically bracing myself for the latest queries from the consultant. I do some VAT stuff but come away relatively unscathed as it suddenly appears that with the builders finishing off our office today I will now subsequently miss the big move on Monday when I go for my suit fitting.

When 5PM arrives we exit the restaurant swiftly with view to getting home for the weekend. Tonight I see two Justin look-alikes on the tube and when I board the 5.38PM Clacton train a lookalike of Jock (Drew) from Butt Road being a transvestite sits opposite me. To imagine the guy in such a role really is not the stretch you would imagine.

Sometimes I love this train; it can be Friday evening perfection as it neglects to stop at both Shenfield and Chelmsford meaning a clear run for a large part of the journey. Also without commuters from those places it generally ensures it is a quiet and therefore lush train with sparse attendance.

On the train I watch In The Loop on my iPhone yet again. This movie never fails.

By the time I’m back in Colchester outside it is raining but I endure this on the walk from the station to my car just to reach the weekend. On the way stop by at my parents’ place at Balkerne Heights and potter with the soaps on TV which always appear to have mum transfixed.

When I get home I write a little before watching Big Brother, which tonight features more footage of Marcus getting tetchy (rightly) with Noireen who proceeds to now appear to be going after the Wookie. Soon however I fall asleep watching the second show, which is a makeshift and bespoke eviction show for the walking Ken. No fireworks.

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