Friday, June 04, 2010


Friday 4 June 2010

I’m just an analogue guy in a digital world.

I wake up with a headache.  This I guess is the result of a two pint hangover and my late night binge of almost an entire box of Krave cereal eaten dry.  There are definitely drugs in those little pieces of tasty tasty cereal.  Definitely maybe.

Thank heaven it is Friday, I have done next to nothing this week and I am exhausted for it.

I manage to snag a decent parking spot at the station (under cover) this morning at which point I promptly appear to lose the ability to park.  I feel genuine shame and embarrassment as I repeatedly reverse in and out of the spot aiming for perfection that never arrives.

Eventually as I wait on the platform a doppelganger of my American friend stands next to me.  I could live without a reminder of that this morning.

Later on cue the train creaks with regularity as Stare Girl boards at Witham and Fading Blonde boards at Chelmsford.  On Stare Girl I notice now a wedding ring while on Fading Blonde noticeably she does not have a wedding ring.  Should I feel bad that I check/observe these things?

When the train passes through Mile End I spot the old guy outside his flat.  There is no wife with him this morning but I do spot the England flags draped from their windows.  Now that is patriotism.

The train gets to Liverpool Street comfortable and in normal decent time.  It goes without saying that today is another baking day.  Despite this morale is high.

Once into work people gradually begin to roll in after me while I get an early start on proceedings.  Everyone (including the boss) asks me about the cricket last night and I am full of good steam, I genuinely had a really fun and relaxing time glazing over with a pint in my hand.

The radio is on form today as Chris Moyles perversely plays “Come As You Are” then “Been Caught Stealing” during the Golden Hour.  I do struggle to believe that he actually likes or even knows these songs.

Today is another productive one.  Closing off a financial year is something that is awkward but also super satisfying for an accountant.  I just hope I’ve done it correctly.

At lunchtime I go for the cheeseburger option, my bespoke creation.  It rocks.  As I head downstairs to collect our dinners the restaurant is already heaving and busy.  It’s a good look.

From here the afternoon keeps up the productive pace and remains a tight a good one while remaining relaxed.  Unfortunately I then however receive an email from Bella.  Judging by the subject line she has discovered her Facebook Cull entry (Day 96).  At this moment in time I don’t think I can deal with any kind of unnecessary hassle born from the past so I promptly send the message to spam.  I might open it at a later date, when I feel more up to dealing with these things.  Right now though I don’t need words from her bringing me down.

Hurt people hurt people.

Soon 5PM comes around and with it the weekend.  Tonight on the tube to Liverpool Street I watch as a guy in a Marseille football shirt pervs over a lady that boards at Great Portland Street.  It truly looks pathetic.

In the end I board the 5.38PM train out of Liverpool Street.  I love this train because it doesn’t stop at Chelmsford and as a result generally tends to be sparse and not bogged down in too much Essex.

From here it is a genuine triumph when I find myself home back in Colchester at 6.40PM this evening.  This is how I remember it to be when I worked dead end jobs in Colchester.

Now back in my home town I head straight to my flat for my first Friday in for weeks.  Tonight I am beat.  Beat in a good way but still beat all the same.  For a while I endeavour to write but my arm just hurts too much from the twanging spasm caused at the Annie Hall screening.  This is not relenting.

Instead of writing I end up watching another old episode of Californication, the first season of which holds up after the third season really jumped the shark last year.

Sadly the highlight of my evening turns out to probably be when a Chinese guy phones my landline.  Despite not expecting the call I still answer the phone only to be bombarded with rapid-fire Chinese words.  I use my only Cantonese line on him which for a moment appears to confuse him before I begin telling him “I don’t know what you’re saying mate, I think you’ve got the wrong number” at which point he apologies and hangs up.  I’m going to miss that guy.

The night ends with me watching an episode of Bored To Death.

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