Tuesday, March 02, 2010


Tuesday 2 March 2010

Dream: the girl that worked at the studio is explicitly flirting with me.  She is acting out of character reminding me of another female in my life.  It all weirds me out, nobody flirts with me anymore.

This morning I awaken to the GMTV news of some daytime television presenter having killed himself.  I have never heard of the guy, this is not news.

By the time I am heading out to the station the sun is pretty much out in full force and today has promise towards being a beautiful day.  The daylight makes such a difference.  With this I feel rejuvenated and almost energetic.  To my surprise despite this there is a slight frost on my car this morning but who cares, its sunny!

Eventually I get on the train and at Chelmsford a B&A girl sits opposite me.  Her efforts however prove somewhat futile because I can’t believe that a Hitler side parting on a Beatle mop top will ever be a good look for anybody, male or female.

Once up in London the tubes are fucked this morning.  It is all standing room only as the shouty black Information Jimmy lady on the platform bellows at anyone (any commuter) that may have not been listening and missed her vital messages.  She is on one of the most explicit power trips I have seen since my time at Baker Street, it is almost quite a hideous sight.

From here the tube journey over to Baker Street borders on excruciating as some guy seems intent on rubbing up against me.  I turn away from him to ensure that frottage is not on his cards.  Fucking dirty old spunker.  Why do men insist on rubbing up against me?  I guess its their inner homosexual coming out.

At Great Portland Street common sense fails as a dumb mother squeezes herself and her three screaming kids onto the already full/packed train, planting the kids around my feet.  I make way for them as best I can.  I guess the low point of proceedings is when one of the kids accidentally hooks my iPhone headphones on her bag and I have to beg and apologise to get them back from her, looking like a nonce in the process.

Finally the hell ride comes to an end and I am truly relieved to be back overground and in St Johns Wood walking to work.

I find myself slow getting going today but eventually it happens and I begin production.  Unfortunately by the end of the play I just do not find myself in a good position with which to be dealing with the impending visit of the consultant tomorrow, not in a position to present him with any figures that really make any sense from a balance sheet perspective.  Three or four days in order to do a month’s work is just not enough time at the end of the day.

Eventually 5.30PM arrives and I head home, there is no temptation to stay late and produce the work/figures that are required.  Perhaps this is why my career has never reached any great heights, my lack of motivation and enthusiasm towards nailing an end result.  There will be tears tomorrow.

Per routine I catch the 6.20PM train to Norwich and it’s the usual dull experience that comes from sharing a train with careerist bumpkins.  I recognise too many people here now and scarily I am beginning to recognise myself in some of them. Who is it that is changing, them or me?

Once back in Colchester I head straight home to where Brazil v Ireland from the Arsenal stadium is on ITV.  It’s a dull fucking game with a dull goal in a pointless and cynical money making fashion/style, the kind of exhibition that reduces and removes of competitiveness from the event in exchange for some kind of additional crowd and revenue.  Truly what is the point of experiencing a moment such as this?  Also why wasn’t it played in Ireland?  Surely Lansdowne Road was open tonight, surely that crowd would have added a bit more spice to proceedings as opposed to these tourists on view this evening.  Perhaps Arsenal are now financial slaves, bitches to the Emirates that built this hollow/shallow shell of a stadium with its modern facilities and comfort zones but little in the way of personality or humanity to boot.  This is the modern world.

Eventually I opt for watching Jon Stewart instead, missing the remainder of the game as I manage to actually muster up some writing before heading to bed.

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