Thursday, May 27, 2010

Thursday 27 May 2010

Today I wake up feeling better.  Fuck the world and the arseholes that ride in it.

Despite becoming merry last night and smoking a big fat (but cheap) Cuban cigar there are thankfully truly no ill affects this morning from my depression induced indulgence of last night.  If anything I feel cleansed as a sense of lightness gets attached to proceedings via my breath/chest.  Things feel under control.

GMTV is its usual fucking load of old shit this morning.  There is an interview with that stupid couple (the Chandlers) that were kidnapped by pirates.  It is a full on interview with hi spec recording equipment, none of your third generation badly lit Muslim terrorist VHS shit.  How the fuck have the media gained this kind of access to them and not actually done anything to save/return them?  It doesn’t feel real; it feels like a movie (a rubbish version of Life Aquatic) or even a scam.  I had long forgotten about these two and I am pretty sure both the outgoing and incoming governments probably had too.

Looking at my PC it appears to have stayed on all night but unfortunately when I touch it the screen goes black/blank – this video card is nearly history.

This morning I have to remember to pay a few bills which sets in motion an impromptu rummage and sorting through post looking for a property bill and the big credit card statement.  Eventually I find what I am looking for and within a few minutes and a few swishes of my pen I am £4400 worse off.  Easy come, easy go.

Leaving the flat my neighbour’s bin bag is still sat outside her door creating a stink for us all to experience and enjoy in the communal area.  A word with our property agents Pier Management or Countrywide Management (whoever the ones I am writing a cheque to) seems on the cards.  I can only imagine what state the flat is in inside, poor old Stu.

Outside the day is damp.  The cars are caked with the remnants of rain and there is a distinct chill in the air, all of which is unexpected.

As result of my messing around/about I am late leaving.  Unsurprisingly today is one of those days where every vehicle serves to just slow me down and get in my way on the drive to the station.  The low point occurs by the roundabout next to the police station when an army truck cuts us up and when I finally pass it I wish it bad things in Afghanistan.

Eventually I get to the station on a knife-edge, not sure as to whether I am going to actually catch my train or not.  In the end I board a mongrel train (half National Express East Anglia, half piss streak).  After trolling through some carriages I finally find my prize and a comfy chair in the corner.

At Chelmsford I do a truly terrible/horrible thing when just as an annoying man (a definite plate crowder) appears to be zeroing on the seat next to me I pretend to pick my nose and rub it on the chair.  My sick trick and ploy works as he promptly avoids me like the plague.  Cunning.

When the train stops next (at Ingatestone) a guy decides to sit next to me.  Its always people from Ingatestone.

Today I have the song “Dirt” by Mission Of Burma ringing in my ears.  This is a great record, its sentiments seem to promote the concept of standing tall and along, being dismissive of people who will waste your time as the lyrics pick such individuals apart in a brief shower of analysis.  Everyone should hear this band.

The journey to London feels quick today and soon the train is pulling into Liverpool Street with the time a healthy 7.55AM.  Upon arrival onto the tube platform there is a Watford tube a mere minute away and suddenly everything’s coming up Milhouse.

On the tube I continue listening to Mission Of Burma as I place all five of their records on shuffle on my iPhone and let nature take its course.  This music is the pinnacle for me right now, with it I get lifted away, away from all the shit that life currently appears to be trying to douse me in.  For the win.

Soon I find myself stepping into the restaurant where it is quickly becoming apparent that I am getting a cold.  Behind the bar I grab some orange juice for my fix of Vitamin C.

Not long after this the stationery order gets delivered.  As I lug reams of paper up two flights of stairs (if nothing to placate the angry boss) I note how the operations manager just sits behind his desk on his arse watching after grabbing up his printer cartridges.  Thankfully in the middle of my trudges the Filipino turns up and grabs a few bits.  She is a superstar.

Today I make the effort to be less grumpy in the office, it’s not really fair on the others.  With this the Filipino brings in a chocolate cake that she made at home last night.  Later she tells me that it is to cheer me up.  I love her, why do I always wind up dating/meeting weirdoes when there are people like her out there?

All in all it turns out to be a better day.  The weird events of Tuesday night with Miss Sophie Rooke have now ceased to weird me out but there is still some confusion that remains.  I am now back at the beginning of the game, the game where I never get to pass Go.

Elsewhere in the office The Girl sounds insane today as she begins expressing the desire to start up a market stall in London.  She is scarily clueless and naïve on this matter.  Why burst her bubble though when life will surely eventually sort her out.

For lunch I return to chargrilled salmon with new potatoes and Hollandaise sauce today.  It’s a good dish, one that does not necessarily come with calories or guilt.

In the afternoon I saunter into some work but as the afternoon flies by the day soon arrives at 5.30PM and escape.

Just as I am leaving I get a shout from the boss as it appears The Girl has messed up in emailing some scans of contracts to him.  Seriously how difficult is it to attach a couple of JPEG documents to an email?

Like a good guy I remain behind, staying late to reboot her computer and login to her computer where I resend the JPEG files individually in one email, something The Girl is apparently either too lazy or too thick to do.  Bless her.

In the end I leave about ten minutes late but this is enough.  As I board the tube at St Johns Wood it is full of arseholes emerging from Lord’s and the cricket.  Needless to say when the train reaches Baker Street these tourists make life difficult as I have to clamber over them to exit the carriage.

Emerging at Baker Street, climbing up the steps to the Metropolitan Line I find myself railing against stream versus a bunch of uppity commuters taking liberties.  Happily I take the opportunity to brush and bump into as many of them as possible, much to the occasional but deserved chagrin.  When I finally arrive on the Metropolitan Line platform I find myself faced with no trains due to a breakdown just outside Liverpool Street.

Feeling cursed from here I find myself returning to the Jubilee Line to get a train down to Bond Street in order to hop aboard the Central Line.  The Central Line during the rush.

When I get back to the Jubilee Line I spot a crusty woman that looks like Moriarty, and it really could be her.  Out of fear I decide to avoid eye contact and not tempt fate.

The Central Line during the rush is perhaps one of the worst things in life.  This is where innocence ends.  The thought that I used to do this everyday now terrifies me.

Initially the journey begins OK at Bond Street where the carriage isn’t too bad but then after stops at Oxford Circus and Tottenham Court Road it begins to fill up although not to Bombay degrees.  To my surprise it is actually at Holborn where all manners fly out of the window.  As our train pulls into the station our carriage is pretty much solid but this does not prevent desperate and callous souls from squeezing into a space that does not really exist, a space right behind me.  Despite their efforts to crush me I absolutely have nowhere to move to so God only knows what part of the carriage they are trying to get to.

Soon I feel something squeezing in tight against me, rubbing against me in an explicit fashion.  I hate this.  As I get annoyed and look around at the culprit it turns out to be a chunky but pretty brown lady and suddenly full circle I don’t mind the rubbing so much, suddenly this is the best sex I have had in weeks.

Eventually the frottager exits at Bank and with it my innocence before the train thankfully gets to Liverpool Street soon afterwards.  By this point it is too late to board the 6.20PM Norwich train so tonight I find myself compromised on the 6.30PM Norwich train.

From here things calm down on/for the evening.  In the end I manage to get home to Colchester with little in the way of drama.  Once home I am not long for the evening and soon passing out.

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