Friday, April 16, 2010

Friday 16 April 2010

Dream: my boss keeps interrupting me while I am trying to order something online.

Impressively I avoid a hangover this morning.  Slowly I get up and murmur only to hear my neighbour slam her door at 6.20AM as she exits.  If the building wasn’t awake already it sure is now.

Today is a great looking morning, glowing, fresh and Friday.

There is currently no food in the flat.  This means for the first time in longer than I can remember I am heading to work without eating any breakfast.  I never ran out of food when I was having cereal for breakfast but now this damn fruit shit is really betraying me.

The drive to the station mirrors such smoothness and within minutes I am on the platform.  From here today’s commute comes without complexities, nobody sits near me and thus nobody crushes me.

Once again the train pulls into Liverpool Street at 7.54AM.  High five.

At the station there is a lady handing out free samples of Yakult.  This is the first free stuff they have given away in ages.  Despite Chris’ dad’s eternal theory that this is the best way to distribute Anthrax I grab a little bottle in the hope of satisfying my breakfast desires a little.  With no one looking, once on the tube I tear the little bottle open and as I down it it feels like dropping Cyanide.  Nice.

I am first into work today and it is a truly pleasant feeling.  Having not had breakfast yet again I indulge in more orange juice from the bar.  Vitamin C will see me through.

Is Dappy the stage name of Alfie Patten?

From here my Friday is a decent one.  A couple of times last night takes me to the toilet but at least I am not hangover (or so I keep telling myself).

I now have three To Do lists that I am working on/from.  These are my hymn sheets.  Thankfully there is some crossover but ultimately it only suggests that I am not getting things done/finished this week.

As a result of this degree of focus I find myself having a relatively decent morning of work, just about more than scratching the surface.

In the afternoon I find myself on the Holy Terror Records website buying the new Charles Manson seven inch single.  I can’t help but feel/think that this is bad for karma.

Towards the end of the day I text Racton and in reply he happens to note and ask me why Chris Summerlin has culled me on Facebook.  To the best of my knowledge he hasn’t but when I check my friend list it appears that he indeed has.  I have to admit I am genuinely surprised by this, to the point that I even have to check that my friend list number has definitely dropped from 138 to 137.  It has.  Why?

From here it niggles and worries me.  Now I know this website is the pit of trivial pleasures and Chris Summerlin is somebody that I saw just twice last year (ATP and then Ross’ birthday eight months ago) but I still go through the denial anger acceptance thing except I don’t reach acceptance.

In a way it is flattering to think that I am still even on his radar but ultimately it is just weird.  Citation needed.

Things get worse when just as I am one foot out of the door the IT Guy begins hitting me with accounting queries.  He always does this, hits me with these questions at home time on a Friday.  Does he not reconcile this as being my escape for the weekend?  Seems not.

Eventually after I manage to wriggle away it just results in me stomping out of work in a hump for the second Friday running.  As I change tubes at Baker Street and board the Metropolitan Line the tube carriage is filled with some of the most annoying cunts in London.

I rush to get on the 6PM train to Norwich, which then proceeds to be slow in pulling off and finally beaches fifteen minutes into the journey at Chadwell Heath.  God hates me.

It is just past 7PM when the train pulls into Colchester.  With this I hop into my car and head to Balkerne Heights to watch Millwall v Huddersfield on Sky.

As ever when I turn up the dog is initially happy to see me before he cools/calms right done.  It turns out that another dog attacked him earlier this week and he has a few tiny wounds to show for it.  Dad says he punted the offending dog with a big kick.  The old man is vicious like that.

The Huddersfield v Millwall game turns out to be something of a duff game.  Early on Shaun Batt goes off injured and he only gets replaced with crap in the form of Obika and his thug life tattoos.  From here Huddersfield have most of the play and inevitably take control of the game, pinning ‘Wall back but not necessarily making the most of their advantage until they inevitably take the lead.

When Neil Harris eventually comes on he brings a bit of life to the game as the best Millwall opportunity comes when Obika heads the ball against the bar.  Towards the end of the game Gary Alexander comes on as a substitute sporting a new beard.  It’s a good look and great to see him back.

Then at one point it even looks like Huddersfield are warming up their mascot to bring him on as a substitute.  Now that’s northern desperation.

In the end the game finishes at 1-0 with Huddersfield quite frankly looking the better team.  Tonight winds up feeling like a true missed opportunity.

Not long after the game finishes I head straight home, festering in a hump.

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