Friday, October 01, 2010

Friday 1 October 2010

I could have done with more sleep today.

For a third day running I awaken with “The Bitterest Pill” stuck in my head.  Will this now be there forever?

I am truly relieved that its Friday.  I have to admit that I do not want to go to work today and don’t want to have to deal with The Girl.  She is beyond salvation.

For my sins though I still pull myself together and head out into god knows what.  Yesterday really fucked with me, ruined last night and now remains playing on my mind.  Apprehension rains.  I do not have high hopes for today.

When I step out onto the landing again this morning I spot the spider sat outside our doors.  It doesn’t look like it has moved since yesterday.  Is it dead?  It would seem no one is scared of spiders in this building.

Soon I find myself hurtling towards the station and eventually stuck behind an arsehole moped.  What kind of soft brain bastard rides a moped?  At least get a real motorbike.  Ultimately it is then the fanny’s driving/riding like a fool that prompts a brief stand off between me and a bus.  Bus wanker.

Still, nobody dies and finally I find myself on a train where I get a real “my seat” snuggled in the corner with full view of everyone and everything on the train.  This helps when you possess a paranoid nature like me.

At Chelmsford a pretty black lady sits opposite me and for some reason she smells like Christmas.  I want her to sit near me everyday for now onwards.  Later at Ingatestone (always at Ingatestone) two chattery IT bods sit in the seats next to me and Miss Christmas.  The content of their chat is bad enough but the guy to my right really loves to gesticulate and repeatedly knock arms with me in the process.  From here I spend the majority of the journey attempting some sleep but being bashed at regular intervals really cuts into my efforts while sat opposite me Miss Christmas is well away.  Often I make explicit gestures to glare at the guy and his unfortunate catcher but neither of them are taking hint.  I’m too soft.  I’m too subtle.

Soon we thankfully we get to London and away from such bullshit where a whole different set of bullshit awaits me in the form of The Girl.  From here I stagger across town not quite sure what to expect from today.

Once inside the restaurant I take my seat and wonder just what to do with the day.  I begin by making a point of clearing the spare chair from the side of my desk and moving the boxes of paperwork that were dumped there while I was away.  With this job done I then proceed to eat most of the biscuits leftover from yesterday in an immature act of spite.  It’s the small victories that get me through.

Before long the Filipino soon follows me in and I ask about her Facebook status last night of “it’s so amazing”.  It turns out that this was just her reciting the lyrics stuck in her head from the Bruno Mars song.  Then I ask “what happened yesterday?” as I feel like apologising to her for the atmosphere that prevailed and spoiled but she just shakes her head and says “I don’t know”.  I sense I’m not forgiven.

Eventually The Girl trots/swaggers in a few minutes late.  Unsurprisingly this only serves to annoy me further.  One of the first things she talks about is having a dream last night where our boss had a go at her, pretty much an exaggerated echo of actual events.  Who cares.

After a few exchanges and her acting as if yesterday had not happened she prods me with “are you not talking to me Jason?” to which I respond “I’m talking but I don’t want to”.  And then it kicks off.

Having already blanked out much of the argument yesterday, now having slept on things last night, today I have come in equipped with a point to my argument.

Round 2 happens as I tell (shout at) her that yesterday was out of order and how I did not appreciate her reaction or attitude.  I tell her that after all the house hunting stuff she has been doing on company time this week that she is now taking the piss with her attitude and that she needs to have a little gratitude to us as we accommodate her.  Of course she denies and objects to this accusation.  I however maintain my stance and my corner.  In response she accuses me of having “some kind of bad boy act”.  Really?

In the middle of our shouting the boss steps in and asks “what is up?”  I really don’t want to bring him into this because invariably/naturally he will side with me and this will only cause The Girl to accuse me of brownnosing and sucking up in the act of favouritism.

As the bluster begins to die down mid shout she gets up to head downstairs and get the coffee as usual at which point I am in the middle of accusing her of creating every bad atmosphere that there ever is in the office.  This she also obviously denies.  As she heads downstairs I offer some kind of truce and opportunity for a sit-down to talk things out but she turns me down instead choosing to stomp downstairs and just make the coffees.  It is at this moment I decide that if she makes me one that I ain’t fucking touching it.

When she returns I call truce, apologising (for something) saying that I don’t want a second day of bad atmosphere in the office.  We reach an agreement.  I think ultimately I should just take this as good practice for having a daughter one day.  Unfortunately this gesture does not prevent a grey atmosphere from prevailing as rain pummels down outside.

Not long after our truce is announced/declared The Girl points out that I have a cup of coffee waiting for me.  I’m still not touching that fucker, call me paranoid but better safe than sorry.

From here the morning passes pretty much in silence as the occasional stilted stab at conversation gets attempted.  Later when lunchtime arrives food gets order as usual.

Into the afternoon The Girl tries to act as if nothing is up and nothing happened.  It just still isn’t rubbing.

Finally thankfully we reach 5PM and escape/release.  I however still have some waiting around to do as I am meeting up with the others to see ALUN COCHRANE at the Soho Theatre tonight and it would appear everyone except me has post-works drinks to go to.

Hanging tough in the office I listen to Scott Mills do his Wonder Years on the radio before the day catches up with me and I lean back in my new office chair and close my eyes.  It is at this point the Albanian chef pops his head in and rumbles me snoozing.

With the night still heavily pissing down outside I decide to brave the elements and head towards Soho in the hope that the others will have found a place to go, a place to be.

The brief walk from the restaurant to St Johns Wood station serves to get me suitably drenched.  From here wet I head down to Bond Street where I ride across to Oxford Circus where I emerge out into more rain.

For refuge I wind up in HMV where once I would have stepped into Borders.  This is where the world is going.  Thankfully I soon hear from the others who have already pitched up in Bodeans.  When I arrive they are sat at a bar with beers in hand sat opposite facing a wall mirror.  What kind of sick person puts a bar up against a mirror?  Why would anyone want a seat that faces a vision of themselves as they prepare to eat a ton of barbecue?  Surely that can’t be good for business.

With resignation I sit and look at myself and unsurprisingly I look a mess.  This then makes me feel like a mess.  Then however I manage to acclimatise and decide that the view does not look that bad after all.  It does however remind of that old Roseanne Barr joke where she said her latest diet was to eat her meals while sat opposite a mirror in the nude.  Then when Amy turns up she makes comment “you look better than your reflection”.  Was that a compliment?

Soon Helen from Answer Me This! turns up and joins as we head downstairs and into a booth for beef aplenty.  The last time I came to this place was last January before the Kristen Schaal and Kurt Braunohler show and worryingly that night I found it a struggle to get into the booth.  Thankfully tonight proves times have become better.

Bodeans is amazing.  This is meat prepared in the tastiest manner.  In addition to this the waitress is super friendly and then to cap it all I spot there is Root beer on the menu.  In the end this turns out to be the best food I have eaten out in ages.  Even now I can taste the BBQ char and the awesome spicy sauces to go with.  I wonder what the poor people are doing.

Tonight Helen shows us the trick of talking to a person while giving them the bird at the same time.  It takes a surprising amount of skill, concentration and conceit to pull it off.  It reminds me of negging from The Game.

Food wise Racton and I get into the minefield of sharing a platter as while we are still going strong, our meat provisions are not keeping up.  Personally this evening I think I could have polished of an entire platter on my own.  Is that bad?  All in all it turns out to be a real test of manners as ultimately we remain friends if still a little peckish.

When all is said and done I love Bodeans, not least because it shows baseball on its TV screens.

With food in our bellies and love in our hearts (and vice versa) we finally finish up and step out into the rainy Soho night.  To this end Helen mocks me for being in only a v-neck jumper (a cheap £6 Asda George one at that).  She points out that its going to shrink on me like a sponge (and that is without realising how cheap it is).  Goddamn this is real.

Heading to the Soho Theatre our party appears to take pity on me as first Amy then Eleanor both kindly offer me space beneath their respective umbrellas.

Once inside the venue tonight the Soho Theatre feels light on the ground, which works in our favour as we comfortably snag good seats (unlike with the Neil Hamburger show in August).

The sad truth is that I am unfortunately in no fit state to see ALUN COCHRANE tonight.  It has been long, tough week and today is the beginning of what is promising to be an even heavier and hard month.

These days ALUN COCHRANE looks older and it suits him.  With a box behind him marked “Jokes” (a useful tool and prop for any comedian) he casually strolls through his set with smart observations that coast along surrealism and the general stupidity attached to everyday life and the world around us.  Within his dry tones there is a subtle degree of sarcasm that cuts deep into ridiculousness.

Honestly it is not a reflection on COCHRANE that tonight he is such a tough sell for me.  It's me, I’ve been trying too hard and now I am exhausted and shattered.  By the time he is addressing his clearly marked joke box to gauge audience reaction I am ashamed to admit that I am practically passing out.  The vision of this surely cannot be good for the confidence of an artist.  Personally, unlike my friends, I really like the joke box material that he randomly pulls out.  It mainly consists of cheesy gags and puns but what’s the crime in liking that?

Soon he gives up on the joke box and returns to his normal set before wrapping things up and swiftly calling a night on proceedings, an ending that arrives bluntly and slightly out of the blue.

With this a sense of relief washes over me as we exit and I just know that I will be falling asleep on the train home tonight.  It all goes to plan as I just about manage to get home in one piece.

When I eventually get home one of the TV channels is showing Some Like It Hot which I think is a very classy gesture as tribute to Tony Curtis.  The screening is hardly primetime but there is a certain degree of weight and value in appearing in the post pub Friday night slot even if it is graveyard.  In other words this is almost a perfect to end the week with and fall asleep to.  A classic in so many ways.

I pass out.

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