Tuesday, October 05, 2010

Tuesday 5 October 2010


Tuesday 5 October 2010

I wake up grumpy.  No surprise there then.  Why did a group of arseholes have to move into my building?  It’s broken Britain.  And now it’s broken door Britain.

As I exit through the front door indeed it is fucked, seemingly now coming off its hinges.  Personally the way things are going I’d prefer that we didn’t have a door at all if it is going to cause such a concentrated/continued period of nuisance from the constant slamming.

Stepping out into the car park/courtyard there is a black lump of an object dumped in the middle of the car park.  Upon closer inspection it turns out to be a full large bottle of Coca Cola just dumped on the floor.  What on earth were these people up to on a Monday night?  It is at this point that I notice the P registration shit heap is still sat in my parking space.  I guess someone had a sleepover.

To add to my annoyance as I go to move the Coke bottle as I flip it over it begins fizzing and squirting all over me.  Was this some kind of trap set up to snare a normal person?  Welcome to Tuesday.  Is it really these people’s intention to be slowly turning me insane?

Does this really have to be a sixth shit day in a row?

Somewhat dishevelled by it all for some reason after unlocking my car I try to enter it via the passenger side.  See, madness.

As I pull off with the Coke bottle still squirting into the air of our car park (a poor advertisement if ever there was one) I pass The Ghost.  I wonder if he’ll be inspecting the bottle also.

The drive to the station fails to improve when outside the police station the heap of a car that I am following with the England sticker in the back window decides to just pull over and let its friend out without signalling, indicating or gesturing.  Why does everyone have it in for me?  You could forgive me for developing something of a persecution complex.

Eventually I get to the station and onto the platform where I spot Labour Boy and Epiphany Girl before noticing once more that our section of the platform is getting more and more popular (crowded) these days.  Why do we need to bundle to get on the train everyday?  It happens.

Naturally later Stare Girl boards at Witham.  And then naturally at Ingatestone a plate crowder boards and squeezes into the seat next to me prompting a one buttock ride for the remainder of the journey.  Fuck my life.  In the end it is with a real/genuine degree of relief that the train pulls into Liverpool Street.

From here the ride to work across town is a quiet, smooth and efficient one in comparison.  As I step through the front door the operations manager is making coffees and offers me one.  Lifesaver.

Soon after settling at my desk the Filipino comes in and she asks me how my trip home last night was.  Within minutes she has said more to me than the whole of yesterday combined.  It is a true relief to get her back.

Early into proceedings the angry boss gives the roving chef a dressing down over an incident in the restaurant at the weekend involving a salad.  Against expectations the roving chef takes it on the chin when really we are expecting fireworks.

At this point I text The Girl to tell her to hurry up and get in but when she responds it is saying that she is ill and not coming in.  She so reminds me of Haslett at these times (albeit a pikey version without her brains).  Jesus, after the time off last week and the trouble that it caused is she really so thick to do this?  Or is this just her continuing to act out and play up, getting (in her mind) the final word?

From here it is a quiet day.  The Filipino and I are now at least talking but its laboured.  Away from the tension and apparent atmosphere from a work perspective I am truly flying at the moment.

Today at lunchtime the roving chef again conjures up another great dish.  Why does he try so hard?

Into the afternoon things shift smoothly even though the Filipino remains not saying very much.  I hope she snaps out of it soon.

Eventually 5.30PM arrives and with it the boss asking me how things are and what I am up to this evening.  I inform him that I am heading down to see WILLIAM GIBSON do a book event at Foyles.  Minutes later I am boarding the St Johns Wood tube down to Bond Street and across to Tottenham Court Road as the Central Line torments me as ever.

As I exit at Tottenham Court Road while heading up the stairs a man ahead of me that looks like Luke Haines is wilfully and joyfully swinging his umbrella without a care in the world.  As it swings closer towards me I see red mist and prepare myself to contend with potentially poking me.  Then it happens.

When it swings towards me, right into me I immediately slap the umbrella out of the way prompting the guy to equally spin around and ask what is it as for him it is not obvious, he is ignorant.  Then he seems to clock me as I rub my face as if he had just whacked me in it.  Promptly he changes his tune and asks me if I’m “all right?” to which I respond by giving him the thumbs up before shaking my head judgementally after he turns his back.  That was a little lesson.

From here I sought safety in Foyles where I immediately find myself met with the new book by Douglas Coupland called Player One.  Where did that come from?  I haven’t seen any press for it.

With buoyance I step upstairs to see if they have opened The Gallery yet.  Indeed they have as many people already inhabit many of the good seats.  Guarding the door is a gorgeous pointy face girl with glasses and luscious long curly hair.  I didn’t expect to fall in love here tonight.  At this moment Steady Diet Of Nothing plays in my headphones as somewhat moved I stutter out my name to her and pray that it is on the list.  To my relief it is.

The view inside the Gallery proves less appealing as so many have turned up early.  It comes as no surprise that the core WILLIAM GIBSON audience is made up of geeks and overweight men.  Where are the chicks?

After a hefty wait the room eventually fills and WILLIAM GIBSON finally steps into the room.  My instinct is that the guy looks old.  Then when he opens his mouth he appears to be a casualty (the drug version).  Perhaps this is how nerds/geeks age.

Tonight GIBSON is gracious as he promotes his latest book Zero History, which is the third and final part of his latest trilogy.  The reading also proves extra apt being that the novel is set in London.

He opens by reading a passage and it is the customary dark collision of technology crashing into hostile reality while being fluffed up with extraordinary characters (individuals) that the reader is no doubt designed to associate and identify with.  With a bleak future on the horizon in the real world it doesn’t hurt to tart things and offer an alternative that offer a few more prospects.

After the reading GIBSON offers a little more background behind the novel (and trilogy) before fielding questions (all four of them).  The first question relates to the humour in the work (“is it deliberately fore grounded?”)  GIBSON says that it isn’t necessarily intentional but he does come over as a very dry person with some kind of wit and sense of adventure.  Its just natural, organic in a cybernetic way.

From here he addresses the accusation of being too pro-Apple, too pro-Mac to the point that he is product placing within his work.  He just laughs this off (in his manner) saying that he just like these items is all.  Don’t we all.

Very soon he looks like he has had enough as he motions towards the book signing area.  This gestures appears not born out of rudeness, he just doesn’t appear up to delivering much else.  For real?

With this we shuffle out with the time barely 7.20PM.  Sweet – an early night.

Happily I end up on the 8PM train home meaning I find myself stepping through my front door just after 9PM with a little bit left of the evening to use.

Tonight on Harry And Paul they do mash up of Doctor Who and On The Buses called On The Tardis.  It goes without saying that it is genius.

For the win.

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