Friday, March 19, 2010


Friday 19 March 2010

Things feel OK this morning.  On TV I can’t get a decent reception for ITV (and GMTV) but that doesn’t matter, it probably serves as something of a mental reprieve for me.  I can’t help but feel that not watching GMTV saves me brain cells.  When I do decipher some of the stories the news is led by the story of the Asian “kidnap” kid from Oldham/Pakistan.  This whole fishy affair is more than a bit Shannon Matthews.  Also this is not news.

So yeah, I’m feeling good today, perhaps near midnight baths are good for me and the way forward.  This trend continues as omens look good for this Friday as I snag the same prime parking space at the station that I got last Friday.  What is happening here?

From here the train journey is comfortable again.  Not long into the ride I find myself taking my coat off as the weather is really beginning to get there.  Nobody bothers to sit next me today and it feels great.  I know I shouldn’t take such glee in this gesture but sadly it really does affect my temperament.

Soon we get into London and as I board the tube at Liverpool Street I spot Bellalike for the first time in what feels like weeks.  As ever she is sporting her Costa coffee and vacant expression all framed around her big nose and Bella features.  Sometimes she reads some stupid women’s mag, sometimes she doesn’t.  She shouldn’t fascinate me this much.

On the tube I sit opposite a man wearing tiger print reading glasses.  In what fucking dimension is this judged or deemed to be a good look?  And where on earth do you buy such spectacles?  Dare I suggest African Specsavers or would that be racist?  These are the campest bins I have ever seen.  Would it be homophobic to suggest he is a fan of the cock?

Eventually I arrive into work first once again and with it I find myself doing the alarm honours.  I feel I can see for miles at these times.  I also appreciate being afforded the opportunity to have some quiet time in order to do some personal stuff before the others arrive and the working day begins.

Today I have something of a sharp deadline for the end of the day.  My requirement is to get a draft of February accounts done for the old company that has now transformed into another new company.  It is all getting quite confusing now but despite this what is demanded of me isn’t easing any.  If I accomplish all this today it will be quite the feat when considering that I only just started the accounts yesterday afternoon.  I’m up to it though.

Frustratingly it takes me a while to get warmed up today but eventually the ball starts rolling and even though I am working under pressure I am not feeling it.  My head is cool.

Early on we watch out of the window as some teenagers with a car take to making bellowing noises.  These must be the coolest kids in the school because they have wheels.  They truly are privileged.  I sense they actually think they are drug dealers from The Wire when they actually look like Grange Hill rejects.  Also I feel it is worth noting that the kid that appears to be the biggest dick is white.  His dad is probably a banker.

I manage to roll out a set of P&Ls for the close of play deadline.  The quality isn’t strong but its only a draft and it covers the important areas.  Next week we will run stronger.

Our boss lets us out before 5PM and I know with it he wants to get business drunk.  In the end I emphasise to him that I am meeting someone in Holland Park tonight and with it I leave work and head straight for the Central Line.

At Bond Street I again spot the homeless guy (the beggar) with the burnt off face.  This may not necessarily be the best omen for this evening.

In the end I get to Holland Park just before 5.30PM, well ahead of our 6PM/6.30PM meeting time.  With my arrival I fire off an early warning text message which annoyingly does not get replied to.

From here I wander around Holland Park and Latimer Road as drizzle begins to come down.  At 6PM I phone her up asking what’s what.

When we finally meet up I try not to let this annoy me but it just does.  Neither does it go down well with me when she explains that she didn’t get my text message and that I should have phoned her at 5.30PM.

Beyond this our night comprises of mixed returns as play feels stunted and forced.  There is no passion here just distraction and the desire to go home and get to bed.  She doesn’t appear overly enthusiastic or into proceedings either.  These things happen sometimes.

Out of boredom she points that I have small hands and soon we begin comparing them.  With this reference I feel/fear she is making some kind of veiled comment on the size of my member.

Quite frankly tonight I begin to wonder/question just what it is that I am doing here.  Eventually the night gets put out of its misery.  By now I have a headache and after rummaging through her medicine cabinet (looking for goodies) I ask her if she has any Paracetamol.  She hands me a pill in a shape that I do not recognise.  Is this a wise thing for me to be doing at this time?

The walk to the tube station is a low one.  Really, why do I do these things?  I have serious questions to ask of myself.

As I head towards Holland Park tube station I spot Jamie Theakston.  He is fucking tall in real life.  His appearance feels apt in conjunction with the theme of this evening.

The train journey across the Central Line is a tough one, Friday night busy and depressing as tourists and drunkards inhabit my personal space.

Eventually I get back to Liverpool Street by which point things begin to resemble something of a blur as I suspect the pill may have been slightly stronger than a normal run of the mill Paracetamol.

Thankfully I manage to get a decent seat on a decent train home (maybe the 8.18PM).  Unfortunately as I do so I have to step over someone to get to my seat at which point I step on the bottom of my combats and I hear a rip.

Once back in Colchester I feel almost giddy to be back home.  The drive home is weird, I feel super laidback, almost struggling to pick up speed and definitely unable to garner any aggression or passion for the road.

Tonight on BBC1 is Sport Relief which means that the channel is an entertainment write off, an opportunity for the privileged to push their careers while gaggling idiots pander to their requests.  Luckily elsewhere on Dave channel I get back just in time to watch the Comedy Exchange programme featuring Phill Jupitus swapping with Eugene Mirman.  I remember when Mirman did this show in London last summer and how we were gutted to miss it.  All in all it’s a fun show but sad to see the likeable Jupitus struggle at his craft in America.

Not long after the programme I pass out after a tiring day.

No comments: