Tuesday, June 01, 2010

Tuesday 1 June 2010

Dream: Bill Hicks is alive again and doing some kind of gig at Soho Theatre which appears to turn into some kind of lecture on French romanticism and how much it sucks.  The guy remains inspiring.

This morning the news all regards Israel troops boarding and stomping all over an apparent Palestine aid ship.  Those guys always go in so fucking heavy handed.  I really dislike all parties involved in this incident.

When I leave my flat The Ghost is already out, stood opposite our building with his dog.  I give him a wave and receive a response in the affirmative.  I guess he’s not going to murder me today then.

On the drive to the station I manage to cut one person up and, rightly or wrongly, it gives me slight satisfaction.  OK, it gives me great satisfaction.

Today I get to the platform in perfect time but it is with people appearing to be staring at me.  Is my arse hanging out or something?  Are they envious of me?

When the train pulls up it is a short one.  National Express East Anglia have fucked us and fucked up.  On cue as per a post bank holiday engineering works weekend/session the train arrives recovering from it.  I turns up already/almost full and it feels like fluke and fortune when I manage to snag a seat.

As I board the train I spot a man using his new iPad.  What a fool.  The fucking thing looks likes an Etch-a-sketch (especially with the red border).  Where is the dignity in that?  Truly what is so important about this man (and his mind) that he needs to show this off to us all?  Do I sound jealous?

Elsewhere just before the train pulls off I spot Epiphany Girl.  I wonder what her deal is.  Regardless whenever I see her these days it does not feel under good circumstances.

When the train reaches Witham some old fat arsed woman unable to find a seat decides to take a perch sat on my shoulder it would seem.  Well, one cheek.  Her ass is so fat when she goes to the toilet she has to make/take two trips.  I guess I could be a gentleman and give up my seat for her but I don’t want to.  It is not my fault that National Express East Anglia have failed to lay on enough seats for everybody.

Eventually when the train nears London Information Jimmy gets on the PA and apologies for the “short formation” of the train.  Is that what the technical term is?  I thought the term was that it was a “Bombay train”, one where they would have people hanging off the sides if only the powers that be could swing it.

It is with a genuine sense of relief that we arrive into Liverpool Street this morning.  As I pass through the station seething when I get to the tube platform I spot Bellalike and her gormless expression.  She is looking quite pretty today.

From here the tube ride across town is a smooth one.  When I emerge at St Johns Wood I spot an old guy crossing Finchley Road and he looks exactly how I feel, battered by life, battered by the world.  He is today’s hero.

As I walk along Loudoun Road with my iPhone on shuffle “Brompton Oratory” pops up and it feels perfectly, completely enhancing and complimenting my morning and vision.

When I arrive at the restaurant the alarm is ringing but nobody is home.  Without drama I turn it off, get an orange juice from behind the bar and head upstairs to my desk (my perch).  Gradually people begin to roll in, not exactly refreshed from their long weekends.  I proceed to have a scrappy day as things remain unfocused and frustrating.

One of the first things I do this morning is to get on the phone and argue the toss with my property management company (Countrywide).  This is regarding the £25 plus VAT chasing letter that I received on Saturday, the fee/charge that was apparently due on 13 August 2009.  This is some nonsense that I thought was long cleared/resolved.  Twice I speak to some woman in Southend called Jean and twice I don’t really get much in the way of sense from her.  Instead I get some kind of jobsworth response, indecisive information that goes neither way and is not the answer I am looking for.  Frustrated I immediately begin writing an email to a person I believe is higher up on the food chain, someone that just might be able to put some clarification on proceedings (and hopefully waive the charge).

Beyond this nothing much really happens today as it plays out like a typical post bank holiday return to work.  For a long time during the day The Girl and I snap at each other.  Sometimes, such as today, we get too carried away and it crosses the line from banter to insults and hostility.

In the end though I get a reasonable amount of work done today and finally 5.30PM comes around where/when I exit onto a spluttering tube where I eventually have to change at Barbican as it breaks down.

When I finally get home I labour with writing and wind up watching the first episode of Bored To Death but fall asleep before the end of it (and its only a twenty minute show!).

Pathetic.

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