Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Wednesday 21 April 2010

After a couple of false awakenings today opens relatively well.  Flipping on the TV it is to the news that the planes are flying again.  So now the dust doesn’t crystallize inside the engines of jumbos and turn to glass?  Overnight its all gone safe?

Outside it is sunny but also very chilly.  Again I do not wear my coat and today that feels like a mistake.

Arriving at the station as I park up I spot Epiphany Girl walking across the car park looking more amazing and distressed than ever.  Her shadow makes me sad.

Today is one of those piss streak trains.  A person could be forgiven for wondering if National Express East Anglia has lost or broken some good carriages.  Maybe they have sold them on.  What is the reasoning behind these crappy trains?

Once arrived into London I think we have a member of foreign royalty on the tube this morning when despite the fact that the carriage is rammed to the brim this fucking girl is just not accommodating as she refuses to budge or move her case, just getting in the way in the process.  Bloody tourists.  Elsewhere Bellalike is on the tube.

When I arrive at Baker Street and change lines I find myself met with a six minute wait on the Jubilee Line.  This quite frankly is my crappiest journey into work for weeks.  I catch a nasty glimpse of my reflection in the window of the train, I don’t think I’m ever going to lose those jowls.

As I emerge at St Johns Wood I think I spot Alex Reid in training but in the end under close inspection it appears to just be a tramp sat on a wall smoking a fag.  My bad.

Arriving into work it is with relatively high spirits, glad to have got my travelling hell done and dusted for another morning.  On our street the kids are now back at school that means Loudoun Road is carnage once again.

Everyone is already in as I step into the office.  Today in theory should be the bosses day of doing the rounds of the restaurants but I guess there are more pressing matters of some kind at this time.

When the Filipino turns up it sounds like her court appearance yesterday thankfully went well.  We all are relieved that she did not come away with it out of pocket or with a big bill.

From here the morning goes well.  Then soon it is lunchtime and I have penne with chicken which today is a good one.

Just after lunch word filters up that Avram Grant is in the restaurant.  This is worth a walk downstairs to catch a peak; after all he is now a Millwall legend.  At times I kick myself for not being in the office the day that he used our fax machine two years ago.

In the early afternoon all goes tits up as while trying to download the new Bonnie Prince Billy album a virus grabs hold of my PC and ends my internet access for the day.  Luckily I have Malwarebytes on my computer to deal with it but tradition dictates that this is to be a four-hour plus scan.

As a result of having no internet naturally I have my most productive spell/period of the week.  All goes well.

Then the virus hits the computer of the Filipino.  Did I cause that?

At 5PM, almost exactly five hours later, the scan finishes and finds eight infectious files.  With this the internet returns and my productivity promptly ends.  I leave just after 5.30PM, getting into a conversation with the pretty Estonian about studying.  Everything she says sounds like she is flirting, its all in the accent.

Once at St Johns Wood station I find myself stuck behind two women wrestling with the ingenuity of an ATM.  When the debit card goes in for a third time I begin to pray that it gets swallowed by the machine, it is what these people deserve.

Eventually I get my turn, get my money and arrive on the platform.  When I board the tube it smells of spam.  Despite this I get to Waterloo relatively smoothly, save for some for dickhead with a rucksack playing on his Blackberry while stepping on my foot/shoe.  When I literally shove him away he responds in apology but we quite frankly we shouldn’t have ended up at this point in the first place.  Not good enough.

Pretty much on time Racton and I meet up at 6.15PM, part due to a major gesture from me not to repeat the occurrence of the other Thursday.  From here we weigh up our eating options before deciding against Wagamama at the 11th hour and opting for Ping Pong instead.  I think this is the first time that I’ve had Ping Pong since my birthday last year.  With the joint being busy we wind up sharing a table.  Never fun.

Tearing into dinner we splurge out our latest stories, mostly/mainly involving work, television and the Icelandic volcano holding up the airlines etc.  He has just spent the last week or so in Cannes while I have been stuck in St Johns Wood and Colchester.  Go compare.

Tonight I order a cocktail, it’s the Ping Pong way.  It looks and tastes fruity on many levels.  Part of me seems determined to get slightly drunk this evening.

Towards the end of our meal an Asian dude on his own sits next to us.  I get the impression that he wants to chat with us but he is unappealing.  Of all the food places he could go to and all the places he could sit we get the honour and the privilege.  Such is life.

Eventually we stagger into Queen Elizabeth Hall not necessarily with complete gusto.  With Micachu pulling out of tonight’s show due to volcano ash this gives birth to both disappointment and a lot of time spare (to kill).

I fear tonight conversation veers towards mind numbing, as neither of us appears enthusiastic for proceedings.  The subject/event of Chris (Summerlin) deleting me from Facebook gets raised again and I can only but respond with a shrug and confusion.  At this moment I express my concerns about some unpopularity persecution complex that I appear to harbour, which I am only half joking about.

Finally we take our seats for BROADCAST visibly not interested and still talking toxic nonsense.  The band take to the stage and tonight it is just the two of them, no extra musicians or frills, just the main partnership and big fuck off visuals behind them.

It begins badly with so much noise, so much drone and no actual song.  There is nothing in this to prompt confidence of the impending set.

Eventually things start to improve as rhythms and loops form although the “hits” do get neglected in disappointing fashion.  I don’t think I will ever get with electronic bleep and drone music as a live experience.

To get myself through I endeavour to convince myself that this is what it would have been like to see the Velvet Underground at a “happening” with all the nasty sound loops and awkward directions/dimensions staged in front of so much psychedelic imagery.  Basically this would have been fucking great with/on drugs.

When the set ends roughly an hour later it comes as some kind of relief.  We leave with Racton bemoaning their set selection.  Myself I am just too tired to complain.  Passing the merch stall we notice the Micachu CD is on sale – talk about rub it in.

Swiftly I get back to Liverpool Street where I find myself boarding the 10.38PM train.  At Stratford an Asian dude boards playing the loudest iPod in recent memory.  I hate this guy from the first second.

Towards the end of the journey I fall asleep between Marks Tey and Colchester which sees me veering far too close to missing my stop.  This is reckless commution.

Arriving back into Colchester I notice Epiphany Girl is also on the train.  Together we exit and head towards the car park almost side by side in a moment that scarily echoes our crossing paths this morning as things come full circle.  Am I hallucinating all this?

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