Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Wednesday 8 July 2009

The alarm is extra loud as it buzzes this morning, when it sounds for some reason I don’t even recognise what it is. Off the back of such confusion inevitably I find myself on the drag this new morning.

As I drive to the station I listen to Chris Moyles rip into the Michael Jackson memorial thing. Erm, this is coming from a fluff mainstream DJ/personality whose stock and trade this kind of shtick is. For example one day he is wowed by the cheese of Take That for producing an elephant or something and next day he is sneering at the Michael Jackson event. They are of exactly the same sentiment, its apples and oranges from the same sad strange putrid tree and basket. Stop being such a bandwagon jumper and disingenuous with it – have a pure fucking opinion for once.

Walking to the station I find myself confronted with the sight of a lorry driver emerging from his cab (and slumber) in his pants. It’s the kind of view that will haunt a person and one day will be recall/recounted in therapy. Welcome to Wednesday.

A little later down the road the crazy woman with the Alsatians appears and when I pass all three of them I semi think that she is going to set them onto me. She doesn’t even though my scent is obviously appetising.

Today the platform at the station is eerily quiet, not that I am complaining. Instead I am wondering – did something happen?

Worryingly when on the train I find myself feeling short of breath as if I were about to experience/have a heart attack. Panicked I look around the carriage for the most suitable volunteers to administer the kiss of life. Lucky I survive though and do not need this.

Considering the weather again today I hope (pray) that it doesn’t rain as I am wearing a top that turns translucent whenever hit with/by rain. And the world really could/can do without that at this time.

Sat opposite me on the train this morning is a woman reading “The Celeb Diaries” by Mark Firth really intently as if it were really an actual book. This is where the beginning of the end of an individual occurs spiritually, morally and intellectually.

Just outside of Liverpool Street the train gets beached and we wait while platforms are cleared so that our train can pull into the station late at 8.08.

As we all trudge off the train collectively in defeat the girl from the Boring Couple From Chelmsford lets me step out in front of her. Here is egg on my face.

The tube journey is met by having to suffer a fellow commuter appearing to try and sit on my lap. Is this some kind of warped booty call?

It is perhaps not such a great idea that I find myself carrying a giant umbrella with me today as it is only a matter of time before the true desire/temptation to hit somebody with it will eventually rare its head. For this I could be arrested.

I bowl into work with a delivery sitting outside the door, which means I am the first person in. With this I get to play Cheers and stand behind the bar pouring myself a drink and looking damn cool in the process.

Today is a very stunted day; it is very hard to get going on anything.

Later in the morning things pick up as Iain shows me a download link to the Deadliest Warrior episode (“The IRA vs. The Taliban”) that was featured on Charlie Brooker last night.

For lunch I have chargrilled salmon with new potatoes and Hollandaise sauce. This is I think my favourite dish on the menu at the moment.

In the afternoon things get going and I begin to made strides on the accounts and major accomplishments. Still though we remain struggling with the piece of shit version of Sage that we are using. At one point in the afternoon The Lady and I find ourselves both staring blankly at the screen waiting for it to unfreeze so that we can move on and continue with our work. This is not how it was supposed to be.

At some point The Girl and I get into conversation about timekeeping and how she is always late. She acts as if that is acceptable, like it is a personality trait. I struggle to believe my own ears at just how clueless she is. IT’S A FUCKING JOB. It has rules and guidelines. We are contracted to a duty of service in a stipulated timeframe.

Eventually the day comes to a close and with a sense of a job well done. On the tube heading to Liverpool Street tonight there is a girl in a business suit sat looking like she is on heroin. Is that the new look for The City? Banker heroin chic?

Once back at Liverpool Street as per routine I board the 6.20PM Norwich train and tonight I see the lady that caused my epiphany a month or so ago (Epiphany Girl). Generally I feel less optimistic about things now than I did at that time. The lady herself is still a picture of perfection.

As the train pulls out of the station there is a horrible grinding noise attached to our carriage (and probably the rest of the train). I look around worried at my fellow commuters, the extras, and we all hear it. I am somewhat relieved that I did not imagine the sound but I do begin to wonder if we are going to get home tonight.

Soon we find ourselves stranded at Stratford in the shadows of the emerging Olympic stadium. Information Jimmy takes to the mike and announces that it is actually the train in front of us that is holding up proceedings. OK, I believe you but millions wouldn’t (shouldn’t).

A little later just outside of Shenfield the train grinds to a halt yet again and all feels/seems lost. God hates me.

My soundtrack for the journey this evening is Kanye West. Wherever I go he never fails to serve. Until of course I get bored of him and put my iPod on shuffle.

To my surprise when we get back to Colchester the train is only a little late. I guess the driver was able to make up some ground at some point, breaking speed restrictions and possibly/potentially risking our lives.

By the time Big Brother comes on I feel again disgusted by what I am watching on screen regarding Noireen and Marcus. As Nina and I get into our text commentary of proceedings I begin ranting about the female of the species and how Noireen’s actions are so typical. Obviously this does not go down well as my loaded comments cause discomfort, disagreement and disdain. Ultimately it cuts our communication short.

Afterwards Ugly Betty is on and interestingly it touches nerve with my tonight as a pair of BAPE shoes feature in addition to Rab from The Book Group. Not that I pay attention too much else of the show.

I feel to sleep (asleep) to Born Into This in the hope that Bukowski’s words rub off on me and inspire me when tomorrow we will run faster.

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