Monday, July 06, 2009

Monday 6 July 2009

I fall out with everybody.

This morning I come to convinced that I have slept past my alarm clock. Fortunately this proves not to be true.

Getting up this morning is a lot easier than I was expecting after a week of no restrictions on go time and within seconds I’m back into my sad routine.

Marking a good start to the week my old school iPod Shuffle miraculously begins to work again today.

As I walk from Balkerne Heights to the train station I find myself confronted by the smell and then sight of a burned out mattress sat opposite the playground. The stench is overwhelming and sickening. Welcome to the week.

The walk is so so but somehow I get to the station by 6.54 – a new world record for me in the mornings.

I feel musty today and not enthused about the prospect of moving offices, I want to return to the/my cocoon (physical and mental) that I have so obviously been in for the past week. I want back in my womb.

It would appear in my absence the train journey/service has not improved any as after leaving Shenfield soon we find ourselves crawling along the tracks in the most frustrating of manners.

Eventually the train arrives into Liverpool Street at 8.40 reliably late. Nothing changes there then.

On the tube I find myself sat opposite a thin version of Sarah and it serves as an unnerving beginning to the week for me.

Upon arriving at work I have to admit that the office is nowhere near as bad as I was expecting it to be. There has been obvious carnage but fortunately the damage to my stuff in accounts has been pretty minimal.

We begin sorting out our stuff and moving into the other office and thankfully not very much at all on my desk was touched or damaged. My big concern was the print outs of my Ricky Gervais tickets for the gigs at the Bloomsbury in August but they’re both safe and sound, which is a result I had been concerned about.

We begin sorting the office out and transferring files and belongings to the other office where the old FC used to seat, the person whose shoes I have apparently stepped into.

It is hard to know where to begin, there is mess everywhere and a lot of it is around my desk.

Eventually we all get settled onto the old FC’s desk – a desk that once housed one person now houses three of us.

At one point I have a break and notice an update on my Facebook by my American Friend. Foolishly this prompts me to check out her profile and it is depressing as hell and knocks me for fish. It stinks so blandly of well-adjusted happy boredom. All in all it’s just the latest adventure of that dog and pony show. Annoyingly I would give anything to be involved in it.

In the afternoon Starsky or Hutch (David Soul) is in the restaurant and I am genuinely wowed. Exciting times.

Later I look into properties and my options for buying a new place considering that I am now earning almost four times what I was when I purchased Bohemian Grove in 2001. I get my mortgage options from my existing lender and the spree is up to £200K, which is music to my ears, but unfortunately suddenly I need a 15% deposit, which on my desire £150K property means suddenly being able to pull £22.5K out of thin air. Oh to be a silver spooner.

The highlight of the afternoon occurs when as I clear out office I notice a couple of posh skater kids setting up a makeshift ramp in our car park. It is as pathetic as their funded rebellion. With an abundance of huge paperclips at my disposal I begin throwing them out of our window at them. Every time a clip drops close to them it pings and the skater boys turn around and look in fear for where it is coming from as I hide and giggle like Homer Simpson. It then dawns on me that with a few mislaid shots I could just as easily accidentally throw they clips into a rich customer’s car or two. Best laid plans.

At the end of the day I get stuck into work, being dragged into it as suddenly it begins to look like it’s going to be a late one. Unfortunately at this point in proceedings I am exhausted as all last week’s recuperation suddenly begins to feel undone.

As I close our temporary office door it hooks on our files temporarily piled next to the door wedging it shut. Nervously I giggle at the boob and resign myself to sorting it out in the morning as I have things to do this evening.

Boarding the tube at St Johns Wood this evening some woman is just sat on the floor next to the sliding door. As I get on she is just plopped there drawing doodles on a pad before pulling out some wrapping paper. Everyone on the carriage is staring at her and wondering just what the fuck she is doing? There is a time and a place for these things.

Once off the Jubilee Line and on the Metropolitan Line I look down and suddenly notice that some crap has got on my new(ish) shoes. Kiss these babies goodbye, they have been soiled.

Eventually by the time I am at Liverpool Street and boarding my train back to Essex it is coupled with the news that Robert McNamara has passed away. The documentary about him called The Fog Of War is one of the most amazing films I have ever seen and since I first saw it at the 2006 ATP it has blown my mind.

Also passing away today is Allen Klein who was an old music manager with a tough image who was the basis of the character Ron Decline in The Rutles movie who was played by John Belushi. By all accounts this guy was an accounting genius. Long live payola (or so has been my experience of the overriding attitude of the industry).

On the train all hopes fade as the fucker beaches just outside of Shenfield. From here the majority of the journey is spent with the shitstained dude sat opposite repeatedly playing footsy with me and knocking knees with me as he tries to get comfortable for some sleep. What about my personal comfort? I really do resent being described and accused of being a selfish person sometimes. Being selfish is part of the human condition, it is the DNA of our species.

Thankfully the train gets back to Colchester in the end and as I walk to Balkerne Heights it is with my trousers falling down, the ultimate nod of welcome back to the routine, the grind.

When I finally get home in the evening I manage to tear into some writing as the juices actually begin to flow again. All is not lost it would seem.

Big Brother tonight turns out to be illuminating as Noireen finally gives Marcus the big heave ho. Everything about it is wrong but everything about it is also so tangible and recognisable as an example/event from my life. This is how women play men, how they lead them on for their own devices and means and once things begin to get serious they turn and run like shits, able to drop the guy because they hold all the cards. It is a terrifying u-turn the viewing nation (portion) is viewing.

The night closes with Mars Attack! on TV, the perfect movie to fall asleep and pass out to.

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