Thursday, June 03, 2010


Thursday 3 June 2010

Choices made.

Today is one of those days where I awaken upside down in my bed.  I really do have to question the mentality behind putting on the Alastair Campbell audiobook when I woke up at 3AM last night/this morning.

Emerging into the morning all the news today is unsurprisingly from Cumbria.  It’s a terrible mess to say the least and as ever the news reporting is as sensitive as a sledgehammer, bordering on ghoulish as for some reason we as nation supposedly urge/strive some kind back story and reasoning behind the man’s actions.  On GMTV (always GMTV) worryingly the psychological expert that they get in suggests that the moody traits of the shooter may have gone some way to explaining his eventual motives and actions.  So the message that I am to take away from this theory is that we need to keep our chins up and continue smiling slack jawed at Britain’s Got Talent.

I exit comfortably this morning, passing The Ghost as I leave our forecourt (waving to him and his dog in the process).

Today is another station arrival measured by perfection.  As I walk to the station I spot one of the Kym Marsh lookalikes for the first time in weeks.  I also spot Disney Face who appears to be sporting one of those useful “Baby on board” pin badges that the TFL dishes out to pregnant ladies to remove the confusion from giving up your seat to the larger lady (a very good thing on all counts).  Disney Face is knocked up.

It is another sunny day but thankfully there is a breeze to save things and keep them comfortable.  Nobody need die today.

Looking online nobody has bitten on my spare (gratis) ticket for the cricket this evening.  How bad do my supposed friends suck?  My social stock is back to low.  I should never have done that Facebook Cull.

As the train stops at Witham I spot Stare Girl who boards our carriage and then this is followed at Chelmsford as I see Fading Blonde, who promptly proceeds to drown out my iPhone by talking (moaning) to her unfortunate friend.

Today the Paul Sturrock lookalike is missing from the Sturrock Gang but with them still in shape/force I take heart when I spot one of the gang reading extracts of Private Eye to his colleague.  Is this how I am destined to end up?

Around Mile End most mornings I now spot an old couple sat on chairs outside their ground floor flat.  He is old and in a vest while she is often in a dressing gown smoking a fag.  They remind me of my parents.  I can’t help but think that this is a part of England that is sadly dying out.

There is an optimistic vibe/atmosphere attached to arriving into London today.  I don’t have to wait long for a tube and I spot Bellalike in the process.  Not even the fat arsed woman on the tube taking up most of the seat bothers me today.

When I eventually turn up to work it is just the angry boss that is in.  We exchange greetings and all remains right with the world.

Early on I get a text message from my boss asking me to check the bank balances and to call him.  I do the deed and make the call.  Then soon afterwards the consultant comes in but thankfully today he is not concerned with my area, which is a let off because I have plenty to be doing without having a grilling from him getting in the way.

Slowly a couple of the bosses begin pressing me on the April accounts (“the bank is screaming”) and with this I again query the whereabouts of the consultant’s year-end adjustment journals.  With this question he apologies and instructs me to press/push on with beginning the 2010/2011 accounts when really they are in no fit state to be rolled.  Slapdash all the way.

By lunchtime things are progressing despite the heat.

I procrastinate on rolling the year end accounts, instead choosing to do groundwork on the April accounts in an act of damage limitation.  These accounts are going to be wrong for quite some time.

Soon 5.30PM comes around and casually I head to Lord’s for the cricket where MIDDLESEX are playing SUSSEX in the 20/20.

I have to admit to being slightly bemused by Lord’s, of where to enter, where to sit and how to act.  Eventually I find section C, grab a beer and take my seat (a random seat).  As I sit back it suddenly dawns on me just what a great place this is to be at this time.

While music pounds out and cheerleaders dance on the field all in an attempt to turn this game into baseball looking through the line-ups I spot Adam Gilchrist is playing for MIDDLESEX.  “Nice one Shane!”

MIDDLESEX play in pink.  This is something of an unwise and bold decision for any male sports team to make.  I later suspect this is to do with breast cancer support but this is not necessarily made clear and without such knowledge this sure looks bad, painting the side as pansies.

Soon the start of the match arrives and SUSSEX opens the batting.  At the beginning of every over a sample of a Disney dwarf saying “hi ho” rings out as the powers that be desperately attempt to Americanise cricket.  Its an ugly thing.  Later in between overs, balls and moments they play the latest chart tracks.  Did Beth Ditto ever expect to see the day that “Standing In The Way Of Control” would enliven a cricket contest?  Similarly the DJ later overdoses on the latest joints by Black Eyed Peas and Ndubz as suddenly this sport begins to feel urban.  However a quick look around at all the white toffs and louts surrounding me soon reminds that this is not the case.

Sat to my right is another guy on his own and to this I develop some kind of complex.  He is ginger and looks like Woody Allen gone wrong.  Am equally some kind of failed equivalent, a rubbish doppelganger with no friends?

Back on the field SUSSEX soon drop quick wickets and suddenly MIDDLESEX begin to look good value in their pink shirts.  Maybe it’s the disco music spurring them on.  Eventually SUSSEX bed in though thanks to Dwayne Smith and as their innings come to a close Mike Yardy is in bat smacking the ball all over the shop, not that I see this as I find myself at the bar for the final few overs of their innings.  Finally they finish at 146-6.

Elsewhere SUSSEX has the splendidly named Yasir Arafat in their numbers, which naturally causes people to titter.  Good to know old habits and attitudes remain.

At the halfway break I resume my place with beer and snacks as I wait for the things to get rolling again.  By now I have spotted a gorgeous Japanese lady sat behind me that appears to have been dragged to the game by her salaryman husband with his boss it would seem.  Then I spot the cheerleaders and it’s just wrong.

When MIDDLESEX start up it is with Adam Gilchrist opening the order but soon he gets bowled out with the seventh ball.  Despite this bad start MIDDLESEX remain stoic and do not lose any more early wickets but neither do they score/hit any runs.

With the night being a brilliant summer evening soon the game prompts boredom and as the alcohol kicks in the first of several Mexican waves sweep around the ground.  Tonight this is fun not least for the manner in which it dies when it reaches the clubhouse (the Pavilion) ends of Lord’s where the posh types sit prompting boos en masse.  I have never before partaken in the Mexican wave ritual with such gusto.

By this point MIDDLESEX still are not putting any runs on the board and not long after the ten over mark it becomes evident they’re not going to win, not least due to their failure to match the required run rate.

As they crawl to the end of their twenty overs wickets begin to fall while the runs still do not come.  Despite this the game is still technically winnable as they face the final six balls but two balls later they have lost.  Even though the game is now mathematically impossible to win they plough on and finish the 20th over ending on a score of 118-6 making the final score MIDDLESEX 118 SUSSEX 146.

The game gets done by 9.15PM and soon I find myself rushing back to Liverpool Street to snag my train home.  When I eventually get home I find myself hungry and drunkenly tearing into an unopened box of Krave.  These are feral actions and decisions.

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