Tuesday, November 09, 2010

Tuesday 9 November 2010


Tuesday 9 November 2010

I wake up at 5.45AM tired, grumpy and irritable this morning.  When my alarm buzzes I can barely bring myself to look at Daybreak, it just infuriates me so much.  Today it is leading on some poppy outrage story.  This is Daily Mail territory.  Also on the news is talk of more crowding on trains in the future.  This is a reality I am already living, it does not require a forecast.  So why don’t I watch BBC News in the morning instead?  Why indeed.

Once up as I check my iPhone 4 it is still showing “No Service”.  What a piece of crap.

Eventually I exit my flat into a communal area that smells of the cheap and bad things in life.  I cannot help but think the lazy selfish attitudes and gestures of my neighbours are lowering the market value of my apartment.  Sat outside the Trash Humpers’ door remains the latest black bag that was there yesterday morning.  Will they ever get off their lethargic arses and put it in the bins?  I’m led to believe that Caroline Geary living there is now unemployed, its not as if she hasn’t got the time to do the chore, she just does not possess the mentality or ethic.

From here the drive to the station is aggressively laced.  It’s drizzling but despite being conscious of slightly slippery roads I still feel the necessity to get past all vehicles on the way, the vehicles driving in lacklustre fashion actually making the journey dangerous with their hesitative motion.  And when was it stipulated that under all costs we must give way to buses?  Certainly this is the mentality being exhibited by a car close to the station as it promptly brakes/stops for a bus causing me to almost plough into the back of it in the process.

Finally I step onto the platform where again the labourer lads push me out of my seat when the 6.59AM arrives.  Again today I sit near them as one accidentally bangs me (and apologises) while straightening his headphones.  It’s a small reward.

This is another shitty ride into town.  At Chelmsford a rookie extra squeezes into the seat next to me and proceeds to fidget all the way to London.  He keeps sending text messages and with his elbow lodged in my ribs nudging it makes me feel involved in the process and thus entitled to read what he is typing.  On that note I do not hesitate to attempt to read it over his shoulder.  The texts are to be going to somebody called “My Marie”.  That sounds pretty hillbilly.  I wonder if Marie knows this is how she is referred to in his address book.  I wonder if she likes it.  They are talking about having showers this evening (well, she is).  That said looking at the mole on his face he certainly looks like he needs one.

Again the train beaches at Forest Gate again this morning.  God hates me.

In the end I arrive into London ten minutes late, royally jarred off.  This is unacceptable but what is a person to do.  National Express East Anglia has its end users by the balls.  They’ll deliver whatever service they want and we will accept it.

On the tube today are three kids in Barnet FC tracksuits.  They must be trainees, they must be the future.  Barnet are fucked.  I listen in as one of them tries to sell the other shit Xbox games before telling him how ugly he is and what a big nose he has.  Oh footballers, they’re just cab drivers that can kick a ball.

When I get to St Johns Wood I head straight to Starbucks for a comfort Eggnog Latte.  Merry Christmas!  This drink tastes so good.

Why do people keep their umbrellas up long after it has stopped raining?  Oh yeah, to poke me in the head.

Naturally by the time I arrive at the restaurant the Filipino is already in.  She puts me to shame.  With no official word from The Girl to our surprise she trots in today, albeit late.  She is grumpy but she has nothing to be grumpy about.  At first I do not bother to acknowledge or talk to her.  I know she was off work yesterday because of a hangover from Sunday night (Facebook told me) and that is unacceptable.  From here a brief atmosphere ensues (and prevails) as I watch the Filipino’s face literally shrink.

In my own world I continue to wrestle with my new iPhone 4 to more frustration/disappointment and it is when I switch on my cracked old iPhone that this phone beeps with the text message:

“Hi, have been up through the night once again vomiting so won’t be in today.  If I’m not better by this afternoon I shall go to the docs.  Will do wages tomorrow and you can ask for an estimate for merlot of (sic) one is need”.

Confused I ask The Girl when she sent the message which breaks the silence.  Turns out she sent it at 7.52AM but in a rare bout of guilt subsequently decided to come into work all the same.  From here the bad atmosphere goes away as I continue with both my CPDs and new iPhone.  Both chores are fucking tedious.

As things resume full normality we arrive at lunch in no time where today I grab a cheeseburger.  Meat is dinner.

Into the afternoon I still struggle with my CPDs but eventually I begin to make ground during the last hour however by this point the mere telling of my professional body that I have done the units appears suffice for them.  If only I had known that several months ago.  Additionally then after entering a couple of codes into my phone company’s website finally they switch operation over to my new iPhone 4 and nearly three weeks after receiving it finally we have go.

Soon 5.30PM arrives and with it a rush across town to Rough Trade in the hope of getting there in time to grab a wristband for the TIM KEY instore this evening.

In the end I am a fool to rush/worry as when I arrive the store is next to dead.  Immediately I spot KEY milling around as I pick up a copy of his album (With A String Quartet On A Boat) which I feel obliged to buy (although obviously I really want to hear as well).

From here I consider lingering around the store but there still remains a lot of time to kill.  In the end I find myself stepping out of the shop and taking a wander up along Brick Lane and through Shoreditch.  There is a definite appeal to this area/place; it reminds me of Berlin as being unspoilt by adults while being open to the elements of the locals.  That said boy is it intimidating being dark and industrial (well, formerly industrial).  Before long I find myself in the Tesco on Commercial Street buying a can of Red Bull in the hope that it will bring me back alive.  Seldom do these things work.

Swiftly I return in Rough Trade where the string quartet have now arrived and are sound checking.  As I flick through the seven inch singles bins containing hundreds of bands I do not recognise trying to be invisible I spot the Chris Eubank lookalike security guy staring at me.  With the band playing in the background he proceeds to begin prance dancing along with a strange dignity not missing a beat.  At first it freaks me out before I crack up (corpse) much to his amusement.  This is mental torture (mental abuse), it makes me feel like shoplifting just to see what his other moves are.  Maybe it actually is Chris Eubank rocking his new role.

Eventually CD racks begin to get moved and make way as stage time nears for TIM KEY.  From here we slope towards the “dance floor” ready to be entertained.  While we wait for things to start I sneeze and the guy stood next to me says “bless you”.  This is a rare glimpse of warmth in my world.

When TIM KEY takes to the microphone he announces that the event is his album launch party and this declaration comes with the usual lack of impress and slight confusion.  Such is reverse charisma.

It doesn’t begin well as he drops his conductors stick (his pointing stick) through a gap in the stage.  Such accuracy requires skill.  With this he asks the violinist if she needs her “stick” (her bow) before going to the measure of putting on a tie then hiding most of it by zipping up his red Adidas scally tracksuit top.  Welcome to TIM KEY.

With much aplomb he begins ploughing through his pieces (poems) as the band layer the words behind him.  Often after the conclusion of each reading there is comment from KEY that is generally disparaging but very funny with it.  If you’ve got it, flaunt it.

Partway through the set it emerges that the guy stood by the side of the stage in a football shirt strumming a guitar is not a sound tech but indeed Tom Basden.  Eventually he begins to get involved as he informs KEY that he has to get off to play football in ten minutes.  With this KEY takes his customary time allowing him to get involved causing the pair of them to bicker between themselves onstage.

Finally Basden gets to do his song but soon KEY is going “chop chop” and requesting (demanding) that he sings about the random subjects/topics that he is throwing at him.  If it wasn’t so funny it would be incredibly uncomfortable.  Eventually he gets to head off to his apparent football match but not before one last bicker regarding the play run through (dress rehearsal) that they had in the afternoon.

From here the performance plays out with shout outs to the various powers and forces that worked to put the record out.  It all ends in a “what are you supposed to do at these things?” fashion.

With that I exit happy and entertained.

In the end it all equates to an early night where I manage to get the 8PM Norwich train.  Lush.  Unfortunately it soon begins to poodle and eventually beaches around Shenfield.  Information Jimmy says that this is due to signalling problems.  Thanks for that.  Welcome to my fourth delayed train journey out of four this week so far.  Epic fail National Express.

As with these things I get home eventually at a time that thankfully has not dampened my mood entirely.

When I get home my copy of the Answer Me This! book has finally arrived.  Like a true egomaniac I flick through the pages to see if one of my questions is in there (I did ask the 1000th question after all) and I get my gift on page 131.

All kinds of win.

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