Thursday, July 16, 2009


Thursday 16 July 2009

Dream: I am in an office I do not recognise with a blonde I do not know. We flirt a little and I begin feeding the pony. Personality wise she reminds me of Michelle (Earls Court). When I pull my fingers up they are covered in juice. At this point our apparent supervisor comes into the room barking orders/commandments while I have goo on my fingers.

I almost feel ashamedly euphoric emerging/awaking from this dream today. I really should be getting some in the real world; I am so primed right now. That said I am genuinely beginning to sense a seachange at the moment, people appear to be turning more receptive to me and I’m beginning to feel more expressionate in a good way, in a way that is more attractive and confident.

The walk to the station is worryingly painful this morning as my legs ache and I genuinely near getting out of breath. Maybe I shouldn’t have ditched kickboxing.

It’s another bright sunny day but all points suggest rain later. As a result of this with the fear of being too hot rather than too cold (or wet) I am dressed for the former. Suspicions are that I am likely to regret this decision later.

I need a shave. Things once more are grizzly but somehow coupled with my messy hair it’s feeling as if the bushman look is working for me. This won’t win me any points or get me a job but for now it’s fine.

There is an air of apprehension attached to work today. As ever I find myself being pulled in different directions and usually it is what the bank is pressurising us for most that takes priority. This is not an ideal way of working, I really want to install a system but at this time under these pressures it is something that does not appear workable/feasible. I had always intended to get things tidied after three months when I joined the company. Obviously that didn’t happen, being under the command of a shyster with no accounting talent or intellect. The worry for me though is that things still feel/appear messy and in a couple of months time it will be a year since the old financial controller was let go and I half stepped into his boots but on the whole things do not feel as if they have improved to any great degree. Indeed my role feels similar to what it was previously and my boss now appears to have to had to take back former duties the old FC used to undertake that perhaps I should be dealing with at this time. Then again the old FC never did his role correctly and was getting involved in areas and duties that equated to his running before walking, avoiding the groundwork and just building on uneven surfaces from the off. All food for thought working in the finance department of a restaurant.

I begin listening to Nick Cave on random and the first song to appear is “Far From Me” which is one of my favourite songs of his and it floors (and flaws) me today, which is the usual affect it has on me as I seldom tend to listen to it when I am in a good mood. This song reminds me of my American Friend containing the line “it’s good to know you’re doing so well but really can’t you find somebody else that you can ring and tell” which completely fits when thinking of that email she sent me at the beginning of the year that was the end of things.

The train pulls in at 8.06. Late.

On the tube around Euston Square I begin to feel short of breath and something that could be a mini panic attack. Then I yawn and once again I feel pretty much better, almost. At this point I notice the person sat behind me in the carriage has an iPod that is drowning out my own. This is the nuisance train.

When I change lines at Baker Street the tube suddenly has an abundance of men in and wearing their silly little Lords ties on their way to the Ashes today. St Johns Wood is going to be very busy this week.

Just as I get to the restaurant I see a big red double decker bus just like the one Stan and Jack had. I can’t help but smile at this sight.

This feeling is somewhat brief as work feels paranoid and dark this morning. There is a mystery woman chatting to the posh boss in a booth and I barely get a response from any of the other bosses when I saw “good morning.” Was she being lined up as my replacement?

The Girl happily trots in at 9.20AM with the news that she just hit a girl on a bicycle with her car. She was all right though.

Today proves to be a very busy day with the consultant in confusing proceedings and barking orders, some of which are necessary and some of which are not.

In a way I cannot believe that it is Thursday already. This truly is the Tuesday Thursday Blur in action.

Around 1PM a positive meeting kicks off just as lunch is served. The meeting gets rushed so that I can get to my plate of king prawns and couscous, which I am back on with view to at least attempting to eat something healthy. There is a whole bowl of chips knocking about which I invariably wind up tearing into thus nullifying all my good intentions with the original dish.

In the afternoon The Girl suggests in all seriousness that I should get a mail-order Thai bride. Said in front of a lady from the Philippines this is surely an offensive comment for her.

Slightly I kick off feeling offended at the attack on my apparent inability to find a partner using traditional methods, means and resources. I moan about the meeting people in a club route telling her that it is just for Chavs. She then tells me her brother met his wife in a club. I ask her if this is the brother that named his daughter Lanesra (Arsenal spelt backwards) and is currently in prison. That is not at all Chav. Naturally I get pummelled when she responds/reacts, I am soft like that.

The day ends with jobs still unfinished; the argument with The Girl really knocked the wind out of my sails. With The Girl about to move on and start her poxy little college course she is beginning to become a bit smug and cocky about things when her actions are also very likely to drop us in with regards to staffing.

Out of work when I get to St Johns Wood tube station it is full of cricket fans, many in stupid ties, many with picnic baskets and all (it would appear) are ignorant/oblivious to rush-hour tube etiquette.

When I get to Liverpool Street my 6.20PM train has been cancelled even though it is in its usual platform (platform 11). It now becomes the 6.30PM to Norwich. What the hell is going on here? Rumour has it that there is a broken down train and a thirty minute delay waits ahead of us.

While I sit waiting a blonde girl gets in the seat next to me and before the train has even left the station she has pulled out a small (fun-sized) screw top bottle of Pinot and is swigging it like a bottle of coke. Impressive.

Soon after I feel a pat on my shoulder and it is my cousin stepping past saying “hello” as he heads in search of his own seat. Maybe he could take this booze hag with him.

In the end we get home OK, only about 15 minutes late which is annoying but doesn’t ruin my evening.

As I reach the olds’ at Balkerne Heights I see dad returning from a walk with Bobby. The dog sees me immediately and begins dragging dad towards me.

When I get home I discover that Enea from work (the Albanian) has met my Facebook plea and created a Wikipedia page for me. He does a sterling job with a very quick/fast turnaround. Equally quick is the swiftness with which Wikipedia almost immediately pulls my entry down. Fuckers, I’m deserving of a Wikipedia entry with all my music experience and blogging. Really, who do I have to kill in order to get on that site? Is that what they want because that’s what’ll happen.

Settled in I drink a large can of Rockstar with Guarana with view to finishing off some writing this evening. I do it but have to work past 10PM in order to complete. This is my new writing fuel but I do fear it is also putting a real toll on my heart in the process.

The Martin Bashir with Michael Jackson interview is on TV tonight and I swear they edit out the tree climbing scene. That was the best bit!

As I look out the window in the distance this evening I can see lightening but no rain or thunder initially. Then it comes, hitting hard.

Question Time tonight comes from Colchester. Where on earth did they dig up these fucking weirdoes? I have to admit I do not watch the whole thing but when I do pay attention I do not recognise one person in the audience. I suspect they just might be actors.

Unwisely around 10.30 I boon a can of Sainsburys Bolt energy drink. When did I go so kamikaze?

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