Monday, April 19, 2010


Monday 19 April 2010

Dream: I am given a deadline of Wednesday to get all remaining work done (get three months worth of accounts done).  As to which Wednesday it is is not specified but judging by my reaction it is three days away and this Wednesday, such appears to be the pace that we are operating at these days.

When the alarm goes off I just feel insane off the back of only two hours sleep.  How am I supposed to operate like this?

Similar to Friday I fall back asleep only to reawaken twenty minutes in a panic.  This is truly out of character for me, I do not snooze.

Leaving our building I look at the politician leaflet attached to our communal noticeboard once more.  The guy’s name is Darius G. Laws and he looks a real trick.  Off the back of this promotional literature nobody in their right mind would vote for this guy.  Mentally I make a note off his name and make a date to Google him when I eventually get on the train.

Driving out of our court car park this morning I spot The Ghost walking his dog towards our area and we wave at each other while he waits for me to pass.  In the light of day the guy looks a whole lot more friendlier and healthier.

This morning feels like a race to get to the station and as I pass cars and speed down Balkerne Hill I experience the misfortune of hitting a pigeon with my car.  I was sure the dawdling bird would get out of my way in time but sadly it doesn’t get out of my way in time and it hits my windscreen with a thump.  As a result I genuinely feel awful, honestly guilty about ending the life of a living creature.  Maybe it survived but I did truly brain it in the process and even though it didn’t smash my windscreen it did leave a really stain.

Upon arrival at the station I am surprised to find that the train has not been delayed with it blamed on the Iceland volcano ash cloud (yet).

On the train it is a typical Monday.  People try to snooze and the girl to my right spends the journey writing notes from a textbook.  This is no way to prepare for anything lady.

When we finally get to London my new Travelcard does not work at the tube barrier.  I pay £4600 for this cheap piece of shit that doesn’t actually even work.  No wonder the tube staff look at me as if I were a fucking idiot, in many ways I indeed am.

As I eventually get to the tube platform I find myself stood next to a couple of builders speaking in their mother tongue.  This comes coupled with their spitting on the tube tracks.  Nice.  I hope this act/gesture does not cause the train to slip and slide on the tracks.  Later as we roll through Barbican the guy’s snorting actually drowns out my iPhone.  Who are these fucking people?

Misanthrope seeks misanthrope.

As I get bedded into work I check my AOL email to find that the Craigslist advert that I replied to last night has responded.  That’s an unexpected one.

The boss is already in this morning as I arrive and still all talk is regarding the flight cancellations due to the Icelandic volcano.  I could care less, I don’t flight, I don’t impose myself on foreign countries and foreign people they just impose themselves on me.

Around mid morning The Girl phones from Ghana.  At first I don’t recognise her voice, not least because the line is so clear.  She tells me “I’m not coming back” and for a brief moment I think she has gone loco.  She asks to speak to the boss as she sets about explaining her situation with regards to the flight delays and coming back later this week (maybe).

For lunch I have swordfish.  For the win!

From here the afternoon plays out in shit fashion.  By 3PM I am doing what I was hoping to begin back at 11AM.  I am lagging.

Soon 5.30PM comes around and on the tube from Baker Street to Liverpool Street tonight there is a strong Katy Perry lookalike (and she knows it).  This vision however gets eclipsed by the pumped nerd swinging on the pole in the middle of the carriage like a homosexual German into rainbow clothing.  With his keys clipped to his belt and his muscles bulging he is classic all the way.

Beyond this the train ride home proves less interesting.  People on the Norwich are just so tight-laced.  I like it that way.

Once back in Colchester once more I get my ailing £4600 Travelcard changed.  Turn these fucking things into Oyster cards already.

As I drive down Balkerne Hill this evening I spot dad walking the dog.  It’s a great sight.  Somehow he actually spots me and waves.  Nothing wrong with his eyes.

Fatigue hits me as soon as I get home.  From here I only get halfway through this week’s SNL before succumbing to exhaustion and heading to bed.

Sleep.

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