Monday, August 09, 2010

Monday 9 August 2010

Monday 9 August 2010

Today I wake up with energy drink gut rot.  This is a foul position to be in.  Outside it is sunny again suggesting that it will be warm again (warm and uncomfortable I fear).

Quickly I pull myself together and drive to the station and on autopilot within minutes I am on the platform waiting for my train to London.  Welcome to Monday.

As I wait for the train, Epiphany Girl steps past looking truly breathtaking today, smartly dressed for a summer meeting.  I wonder what she does for a living and who she is trying to distract and sweet talk with such an ensemble.  She clocks me blatantly gawping at her and immediately I feel frost.  It was worth it though.

Later once on the train at Witham Stare Girl again sits opposite me and stares at me.  In a way I admire her lack of fear and manners.  The more I see her though, the more she looks rough.  There is a bit of the Clare Nasir about her but this is slowly dwindling.  I wonder what her deal is too.

Eventually I find myself being crushed in my seat as “always at Ingatestone” strikes and some uncaring woman plops herself in the seat next to me.  Arise the plate crowder.  What is it with Ingatestone?

When we finally reach Liverpool Street it arrives with a genuine sense of relief and once through the barriers I head straight to WH Smith in order to buy The Guardian which today comes with its football season preview, without doubt one of the finest previews you will see anywhere.  I guess it just appeals to my sense of humour.

From here I head to the tube platform and as I stand waiting for my train on the opposite platform I spot an Asian lady with curlers in her hair.  Is this a look that is in?  Then as I board a train I spot a Nick Nolte lookalike but when I sit opposite him he suddenly appears to be the spit of Ed Begley Jr.  What is going on?

I don’t feel comfortable today.  On the tube I can already feel the suffocating warm resuming.  Then looking at my reflection I am a mess.  My hair is huge and my beard horribly untidy, hiding what appear to be terrible jowls beneath.

Eventually I find myself emerging at St Johns Wood and heading up Loudoun Road.  As I cross at Marlborough Place I spot two lycra clad joggers with amazing arses.  As I turn like a perv to watch them run off in the opposite direction I find myself walking/banging/bumping into a salaryman.  My bad.

Monday morning in the office is a drab time but today I arrive to the sight of eight strawberry and cream cupcakes from the wife of the angry boss.  Is this some kind of reward for recent efforts?

When The Girl eventually bowls in she claims to be the walking dead.  That’ll be why she is late then.

Once settled into my desk one of the first things I do is send a “for the record” email to my property management company (Countrywide) alerting them to the police visit yesterday (which prompted the pest at my door).

Even though the bosses are done with the June accounts now I still have bits to do on them in order to close them off.  It’s all fiddly stuff that requires concentration while causing frustration.  Unfortunately this is paired with distraction.

Before I know it (and have actually done anything) the day arrives at midday and the arrival of lunch.  As with current trends I order penne.  It’s now my Monday thing.

From here I splutter through the afternoon as I finally begin to make progress.  This however does not prevent me from wandering over to Craigslist and casting an eye over the singles adverts before responding to a personal advert that appeals to one of my major peccadilloes.  It is an advert too good to be true which will probably see me being added to various porn mail spam lists.  My bad.

Eventually we reach the end of the day and with it I haven’t managed to complete my daily “To Do” list.  This is not unusual, only annoying.

Tonight I head immediately down to Bond Street and across to Oxford Circus where I cut through Soho to get to Chinatown and the Prince Charles Cinema.  This evening they are showing their Bill Murray double bill of CADDYSHACK and Groundhog Day with a satellite (well, Skype) link up with a party involved/related to both movies.  Is it Murray himself?  In the end I buy a ticket for CADDYSHACK only, which appears to offend the guy behind the counter.

With time to kill I am able to head to Fopp where I wind up buying five CDs including Neil Young’s first album, The Heart Of Saturday Night by Tom Waits and the black album by Metallica.  I cannot believe that I have never owned or even fully listened to this record.

On the way back to the cinema I pop into Yang Guang where I buy a couple of cans of weird Chinese Nescafe canned drink.  I’m guessing this is coffee.  This is strong stuff.

From here I enter the cinema and take my seat for CADDYSHACK.  Tonight this is a loud audience including far too many shrieking Americans akin to my American friend.  This is disturbing to me.  With the people still chattering the movie starts up with a retro AA certification/rating and suddenly it feels like I am back in a golden age.

Unsurprisingly it turns out to be a pretty grainy print and initially it appears the audio cannot compete with the chattering audience but as the strains of “I’m Alright” drop in and ring out, euphoria ensues.  At least for me.

With the audience now shut up the print actually appears to pick up and CADDYSHACK on a big screen proves an excellent and exhilarating experience.  Never before has Bill Murray appeared so deranged or Rodney Dangerfield so offensive.  A number of times people in the audience gasp at some of un-PC he says.  Better times.  Adding to the fun all the way through the movie a boom mike regularly drops into picture/screen causing unintentional hilarity.

Eventually it gets to the scene at the regatta and my all time favourite movie facial expression ever.  When it arrives I almost pop with joy wondering if anybody else in the house appreciated the comedic efforts as much as I.

Towards the end just as Bill Murray is shaping his gopher bombs the print predictably snaps/breaks.  At this point an employee of the Prince Charles cinema announces that the treat between movies tonight will be a Skype chat with the producer of both movies (this and Groundhog Day).  And there was me thinking they had lined up a chat with Murray himself (as was being insinuated).

Finally the film begins rolling again and the climatic game occurs as the right people win.  Ultimately it feels a strange victory as Dangerfield is actually fighting a class war against snobbery with view to be able to tear apart the golf club and build on the land.  These truly were sensibilities before political correctness and environmental issues.  What kind of message was the studio sneaking past us and into us?

From here I exit the cinema into Chinatown where the night is still bright and sunny.  What a time to be alive.  Turning right it is a very quick walk to Leicester Square station and soon I am changing lines at Holborn and wheeling my way to Liverpool Street on a tube carriage of freaky looking people.

In the end I head home on the 9.08PM train, a packed shit train full of daytripper arseholes.  Two pushchairs proudly straddle a door rendering it useless and without purpose in addition to a safety risk.  I fucking hate the arrogance parents cum tourists.  Why do they feel entitled to act as if they own the world?

Opposite me on the train is some meathead wannabe in an Osaka shirt while the guy to my right looks like he might actually be from Osaka.  Next I notice the woman sat across to the left of me is reading Horse & Hound magazine, a publication read by only the most dubious of individuals (such is my experience).

During the journey the Osaka soldier sits opposite me with his legs spread wide open while reading a Jeffery Deaver book.  I truly have to fight back my urges/instincts to ram him in the crotch/groin.  At this point Horse & Hound woman swings her flip flopped foot out and kicks my leg.  What did I do to her?

At Chelmsford a teenager that looks like Dave Grohl boards with his mates.  The kid is fucking ugly.  I’m no oil painting but he’s just a spazz.  Unlike me though he has front, vigour and energy.  Fail.

Eventually I get home at a not too unsociable hour.  This was a win.

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