Monday, April 12, 2010

Monday 12 April 2010

More dreams forgotten.

I’m really not quite sure how to play it today, the climate is truly middling and my situation unsure.  Eventually I leave the flat wearing a coat even though this feels like overdressing.

When the train reaches Witham I freak out subtly as a girl that resembles the girl from Dedham last October boards and for a strong minute I think it is actually her.  Upon closer inspection fortunately I find myself proved wrong.

Today is a testing journey into town as I begin to feel like killing as a Peter Richardson lookalike sat opposite me decides to spread out right in front of me.  With this his legs enter into my personal space, my little portion of the train this morning.  Am I really such a fool for tucking my feet in beneath me and respecting the room of others when we have a guy like this sat in front of me just taking the piss?  A few times I kick his feet away and shift my leg knocking his knee in the process while he sleeps with his gormless face looking stretching out.

On top of this at Ingatestone some old bag then decides to squeeze into the space next to me prompting the necessity for me to budge drastically in the process.  Why is it always Ingatestone where these people board?

By this point the Peter Richardson lookalike is well away and as I look down I spot his left foot is directly between my legs.  Is this some kind of come on?  Are we now one step away from playing footsie?  Do I really need to blow my whistle?  I begin kicking away at him and he retracts slightly before beginning to rub his left leg up against my right leg.  Now I feel minorly assaulted as I begin mentally forming a plan and a target on his face knowing that one good shot could destroy him.  From here I weigh up the consequences of such an action and ultimately I hardly feel I would emerge from it as a hero.

To my relief the train eventually gets to London and soon I am on the tube platform and spotting Bellalike with her customary cup of Costa and confused expression.

Getting in slightly before 8AM means I beat the rush and smoothly roll to St Johns Wood and into the restaurant.  As I step upstairs our office door is open and suddenly something feels fishy.  When I boot up my computer it soon becomes apparent that email is down, internet is down and basically the entire fucking network is down.  What a coincidence.

Due to computer issues my day never really gets started.  At regular intervals the boss comes in and asks if anything is working yet because I am working away but it is off my flashdrive.  And its personal stuff (this drivel for starters).  Eventually he just comes out with it and asks me what I am doing.  I lie.

The consultant is due in today and this unnecessary hold up causes no end of annoyance and frustration for me as I find myself unable to prepare for his visit.

It is 11AM by the time the network is back up and with it almost lunchtime.  The remainder of the morning soon flies by without anything really getting accomplished.  Soon we reach lunchtime and I order penne.  Predictability is my thing.

Beyond lunch the afternoon plays out as expected but after the computer hiccup at the start of proceedings the day never really gets started.  Thankfully though, the consultant never turns up.  Small blessings are my thing on this day.

The boss lets us out a little early and it is obvious he wants to stay for after work drinks to get business drunk.  For once I stand firm this evening as I point out that Swindon v Exeter is on Sky tonight.  This hardly feels an excuse though at the end of the day.

As per routine I get the 6.20PM Norwich train and arrive home just over an hour later.  Tonight TV is full flow with election propaganda.  When I switch my telly on already playing is a documentary on the history of televised election and debate from both sides of the Atlantic.  There is no comparison, their campaigns last several months (maybe years) whereas ours will run at just four weeks.  We make lack the glitz and glamour but we definitely make up for it with efficiency.

From here ITV then shows some kind of profile cum interview of David Cameron which disturbingly features Jimmy McNulty (Dominic West) speaking highly of his mate “Dave”.  In a way it makes sense that McNulty is this way inclined, when he speaks not in character (his natural voice) he does sound like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins suggesting a very confused situation upstairs.

Half an hour later on BBC One we get “treated” to Jeremy Paxman interviewing Nick Clegg on a set that resembles an empty floor in a seemingly derelict office building.  Was this where they finished off Stringer Bell?  As usual Paxman is Paxman as equal amounts of coverage is lent to his vocal attacks as it is to anything Clegg says.  Its all much of muchness, that Clegg man is a hopeful fellow.  Not much upstairs and not really getting off the fence.

After this I begin to wind down, scraping off a final bit of writing before passing out.

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