Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Tuesday 18 May 2010

Today I awaken at 5.40AM feeling OK; I’m getting there.  As I exit the flat I feel more with it than I have done at this point in weeks.

As I step onto the platform at the station I spot both Kym Marsh lookalikes at the same time and suddenly it becomes apparent that there is something up.  From here the truth is revealed that today’s train is going to be a short one with less carriages that usual (and required).  When it arrives into the station it is already packed (nearly full) as it becomes evident that it is going to be a Bombay affair.  I manage to snag a seat but only just.  This feels reckless and caked in contempt for the customer.

As a result of this the ride into town is an uncomfortable one that feels laced with nonchalance from our service provider.  Basically it feels like they hate us.  There are definite health and safety issues attached with squeezing so many bodies onto such a small train.

This theme continues as I arrive at Liverpool Street to be met by a rammed platform for the tube as well.  From here I spot Bellalike supping her Costa but this recognition fails to offer any solace.

At Kings Cross today’s nutcase is a sharp looking foreigner (female) wearing a strange and excessive amount of grey fur on her being (her jacket).  She looks mean as is she killed the animal herself with her bare hands.  I quite fancy her.  Regardless of all this still is still less frightening than the Koran basher lyricist of yesterday.

When I eventually I pull into work it is to the news that the server is down.  I’m only surprised that this was not yesterday.

Today I throw caution to the wind and begin the March accounts on the new company without the say so of the consultant.  As a result of this decision I have something I can truly sink my teeth into and as a result it makes for a decent working day.

Around lunchtime group emails begin to come in regarding plans for tonight’s Built To Spill and Dinosaur Jr show.  By this point I have pretty much ditched my ticket and all intentions of going but I haven’t told anyone.  The draw of Millwall in the play offs is just too much.

Just after lunch I email my apologies and announce my no show for the evening.  Purposely I do it minimally for maximum dramatic effect.  On cue this prompts a “you all right?” email from Racton.

From here the afternoon flies by and soon I find myself heading home instead of to Shepherd’s Bush and Dinosaur Jr.  I wonder if I will later live to regret this decision.

On the train home is some mug reading a book about Charles Bronson (the criminal not the actor variety).  This is a really unimpressive statement to be making.  However later when the ticket inspector comes along and checks ticket the guy flashes some kind of badge at him.  He’s a pig?  Reading a book such as that?  We are truly fucked.

When I get back to Colchester I head straight to my parents.  As per usual they tease me about the football not being on, causing me to literally have to fight to get it turned on away from the mind numbing soaps mum has so much invested in.

Millwall v Huddersfield turns out to be a worthy play off semi final.  In earnest it is not as exciting as the scrap at Leeds this time last year but it is just as satisfying.

The first goal goes in relatively early as Steve Morison pounces on an effort from Danny Schofield that the keeper can only parry into his path.  From here the remainder of the match is a grind.  As the clock rolls surprisingly swiftly, worryingly Huddersfield do keep in the game and ever the pessimist I spend the majority of the second half fearing an equalizer from Huddersfield.

Happily ten minutes from the end Paul Robinson smashes in a header from a corner and suddenly it becomes evident that we are headed back to Wembley.  At the end of the game there is a great pitch invasion, which as always is a magnificent sight.

Not long afterwards my boss texts me with a message of congratulations.  Things are noticeably much different this year.  When Millwall polished off Leeds last year at the end of the game I found myself being bombarded with several messages of congratulations.  This year it would appear that Huddersfield is a much less worthy scalp.  Have times change or is it me?

Satisfied I don’t fuck around and soon head home in preparation to large it tomorrow.

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