Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Tuesday 11 January 2011


Tuesday 11 January 2011

Today is again being run off the back of less than six hours sleep.

On the alarm buzzes I flip on Daybreak and indeed during the news I spot the guy from Save The Children that was at the pub last night.  Pretty good.

Last night on the whole is still resonating in my mind this morning.  I have now lost a grip on people.  My reservations before hand were generally on the whole realised.  Now was this something I engineered or is the way things are now?  There are a number of aspects attached to last night that I am unable to sit comfortable with, not least one friend insulting certain people behind their backs while being nice to them to their faces.  I guess this is the way the world works but when you in a position to view it so clear and visibly the hypocrisy is astounding.  That said as ever far too many times I found myself the butt of comments obviously I am going to have the arse and issue.  At the same time however I can’t help but feel I was privy to the proliferation of utter bullshit and ridiculous people/things were championed while unnecessary targets/subjects were dismissed.  I’m analysing people too much.  These things probably would not bother me were I well rested and less cranky.

From here I slowly pull myself together before briefly tapping into my latest obsession which is attempting to salvage files from my external drive.  I am getting nowhere fast with this but unfortunately it is consuming so much of my thought as I begin to panic at the thought at losing certain files.  As I repeatedly plug the USB cable in and out occasionally there will be some kind of file recognition but ultimately it is just a technological tease.

Before long I am exiting and jumping into car my car determined not to make the mistake from yesterday of winding/ending up on the Norwich train and having to stand for an hour.  About halfway through the journey I suddenly find myself with someone tailgating me.  With this I promptly slow down to be awkward.

Today I am back on the 6.57AM train.  This depresses me.

At Witham during the torture delay for the 7.05AM Norwich train to pass some arsehole with a loud iPod decides to sit next to me.  Unbelievably it drowns out my WTF podcast.  Curious I want to know more about this guy and why he is such a moron.  All I learn is that he is texting somebody called “Smiley Jack”.  Who the fuck has a friend called “Smiley Jack”?

Later at Chelmsford a Rita Tushingham lookalike boards and sits opposite me while elsewhere a Mark Thomas lookalike enters in tow.  This truly is a train of random looking souls.

When the train eventually rolls into Liverpool Street the time is 8.07AM as I step off.  How on earth does it now take an hour and ten minutes for the train to get to London?  This is a fourteen minute difference (addition) to the train that I was boarding one month ago.  What on earth is National Express East Anglia playing at?

From here I board an almost immediate tube as proceedings begin to pick/step up.  Unfortunately I speak too soon as we then sit in Farringdon for an extended period of misery with no reason and no explanation.

When I change at Baker Street onto the Jubilee Line as the first train arrives for some reason it is not stopping at St Johns Wood.  I wish I wasn’t either.

Loudoun Road smells of shit this morning for some reason.  I don’t know why.

Stepping into work the first thing I do is help myself to a necessary orange juice and lemonade from the bar.  The quick shot of vitamin C and sugar will hopefully ease me on my way.

From here as everything else I my world turns to shit, frustratingly in comparison work today goes very well.

Very soon we arrive at lunchtime where I have chargrilled salmon that now comes with Sciliano sauce instead of Hollandaise sauce.  This is much better.

Into the afternoon I continue tearing into the December accounts getting groundwork done and a head start on proceedings ahead of the auditors coming in and inevitably immediately becoming demanding.

With this the day flies by and just before 5PM with things looking good the boss tells us we can shoot off which royally suits me.

Tonight I am heading to the British Library for an event called OVER THE MOON – THE LANGUAGE OF SPORT.  For this I have actually roped Iain from Baker Street along but with ANDY ZALTZMAN on the panel it promises good things.  Also on the bill are ELEANOR OLDROYD, JOHN LEIGH and HARRY PEARSON with it all being chaired by MARTIN KELNER.

Naturally I get to the venue early, I always do.  With this I grab the tickets and head upstairs for a coffee as I wait for Iain to show up.  Initially this break is nice and relaxing, possibly my first calm moments all day (maybe all year).  Then unfortunately as time proceeds to countdown to show time there is still no word from or sign of Iain.

Soon 6.30PM arrives with still no sign of Iain so feeling fucked off and panicked I leave his ticket with the women at the front desk and enter the hall to take a seat right at the back so that I am visible just in case he turns ups.  Then as the event kicks off a flurry of people come in through the door at the back/top of the hall including Iain.  With this I wave him over and just about acknowledge him when he sits down next to me.

The talk turns out to be a fun but unnecessary event where people highlight and celebrate the crazy clich├ęs of sports commentary and interviews and how it makes for a unique brand of grammar and journalism.  It goes without saying that it mostly focuses on football as in general the talk appears in place mainly to bring honour to error and qualify the unique brand of hyperbole that comes with sports.

Unsurprisingly ANDY ZALTZMAN proves the wittiest panel member even though he is mainly involved in sports journalism via cricket.  In his pocket he brings many glorious examples of classic sports reporting containing metaphor and simile that more respected writers would struggle to dream.  In addition to this we also get served wonderful pieces of rugby and darts commentary as their own unique styles often give birth to equally entertaining methods and examples of expression.

It all ends with a video of Alan Partridge from his The Day Today period displaying a taste from the pinnacle of the industry.  His style will never grow old (it arrived old).  Its fun to see how the professionals appreciate and find humour in the work.

With this Iain and I properly acknowledge each other and soon a drink gets suggested.  We wind up across the road in The Euston Flyer where we shoot the shit while West Ham v Birmingham in the Carling Cup plays out on big screens in the background.

Conversation flows better than I would have expected as we pick up the pieces from back in the Baker Street days as it is impressively quite some time before that place actually gets brought up in conversation and mentioned.  Instead subject matter has moved on as much of it is about football.  It begins with an anecdote about Jason Puncheon and invariably onto what life is like covering Dagenham And Redbridge.  Basically he has moved onto a great job that resembles more of a career than the dead end reality of Baker Street.

With things getting late we knock the night on the head just as a couple of cute Japanese ladies sit a few tables down from us.  At this point Iain remembers my apparent “yellow fever” to which I can only respond “yup”.

From here we head to Kings Cross tube station where as we board the train he does not appear to know where he is going.  Go figure.

When I get back to Liverpool Street the time is around 10.10PM as I head to get a sausage and mash pasty to accompany me on my journey home.  This will fuel me into tomorrow.  Here’s hoping that nobody tells me off on the train for stinking it up (a fair cop waiting to happen).

I wind up on the 10.18PM yet again.  Once on it I manage to sit near the one person that is fatter than me.  Do I subconsciously do these things to feed my fevered ill self esteem?

Eventually I get home before midnight and all is gravy.

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