Friday 27 February 2009

Today is one of those days where I want to feel young. Through the climate I am able to snag a glimpse of that feeling but I just cannot grasp it fully and am only able to find myself pining for times past when I was younger and fresher.

Once again for a February, today is like summer – this is what they mean by global warming and climate change.

This morning I woke up feeling short of sleep. Annoyingly my foot still canes and it is a hard walk getting to the train station and then onto work. Basically I feel bloated and bad about myself.

When I arrive at the restaurant it is deserted, it is peaceful but unrewarding. Early in the morning my head cold kicks in and it is plainly going to be an unproductive day.

Things improve slightly when The Girl brings in M&Ms and Mini Eggs – yeah, that’ll help the bloating.

Away from work my mind is occupied with thoughts of Fellini, Bergman and Salinger wrapped in a desire to be home watching Rushmore – the misfits and the oddballs have my heart all. I wonder how do you play on people’s sympathies and get away with it in the manner of a Holden Caulfield. More importantly what the fuck about him is it that my American Friend finds so adorable. This would however explain her affection for the depressed Catford Guy. There are elements to what I write about that are similar to Holden but my writing just does not tie together in the way The Catcher In The Rye does despite my apparent share of traits.

From here I think about writers block and once more I read that it is something that can be brought on by social circumstances and the writer possessing too many distractions derived from financial and work concerns etc. This allows me some kind of self pity and helps me justify my apparent own writers block as anything but my own laziness and lack of talent/ability. Oh to be middle class or silver spooned.

Around lunchtime I hear Bono say “wanker” which causes me to think “that’s a bit strong for daytime, is it now permitted?” It later turns out that the Geldof (and Gandolf?) wannabe is calling Chris Martin a wanker and suddenly Bono ups significantly in my estimation. What brings on such a piece of public mudslinging remains cloudy but he really is not far off the mark, in fact he is hilariously ON the mark. The moment Ricky Gervais jumped the shark was when he befriended Chris Martin and likewise the moment the current music climate took a swift nosedive was the moment the public accepted his new rock star persona around about the time of Live 8. Ranting about the cunt reminds me of the argument I had with a colleague from my old job at Baker Street (also their accountants) over how he has a lisp and cannot be trusted. The Chav Girl responded by telling me I am a fool (peppered with expletives) and that he does not have a lisp but listen it is there hidden in the shade under his posh, wet accent second only to James Blunt in the fucking moronic idiot stakes. I lost that argument.

On a similar music note I find myself getting into an argument with the restaurant manager over how Nirvana are the best band we will see in our lifetime. I struggle with my arguments as I take some kind of angelic high ground in which I know I do not have to argument in order to be proved right. The manager is a metal fan and plays metal drums (not literally) in a metal band. Immediately he snaps back how Metallica are better and more important for starters but really are they any more than a cliché? In my statement of being important it comes as an acknowledgment of a band being accepted as great by both pop and critical sectors for starters and producing the kind of legacy that lives on and makes so much that comes afterwards a tepid piece of homage (“homage” being the French word for copy). Metallica’s “mainstream breakthrough” came down as the result of their sound being watered down by Bon Jovi’s producer, by putting a compromise on their record with viewing to succeeding in one direction while casting a blind eye towards another direction (popularity vs. credibility). Obviously I fail to find these words in our discussion/argument instead just laughing off the argument and later claiming what ruins Metallica are the solos which to me genuinely makes their early work unlistenable. Fuck me, what an unmarried marriage counsellor I can be at times.

Interestingly today I get told by the girl in the office (“The Girl”) that when it comes to women I am too fussy. I have never ever been accused of that one before but I am more than happy to adopt it as the reason I do not have a girlfriend, happy to use it as a veil to cover up the reality of being crippled by a shocking self image actually brought on by many years of many people happily confirming this fact to me in an effort to cover their own insecurities and make them feel better about themselves. It is a vicious circle and now I am also fussy with it.

The afternoon turns out to be a write off work wise; Friday kicks in early as clockwatching subtly becomes the way. Joe messages me from Japan for the first time in a long time to highlight the story about the sixteen year old girl being sacked from her job for her Facebook comments. I already knew about the story and thought it was pretty funny but the stakes are upped when I read that the girl is from Clacton. As Joe points out in his message “another JGRAM?”

For a moment the fact actually plays on my mind. I guess this means she is getting coverage in the local press, our local paper the Evening Gazette. Four years ago my bosses on Butt Road hinted at legal action were my own sacking situation to reach said newspaper but for five minutes I suddenly think about contacting them with my own story along the lines of “yeah, ha ha, what is it with us people in Essex getting sacked for internet stuff” as a subtle nod towards “look, mines now a book.” Ultimately I wimp out of such assertive action; anything for a quiet life. That and I am too lazy.

As suggested by me, my boss tells The Girl in the office that she is being kept on but under a three month probation period as if being a new employee. This is my suggestion; it would seem somebody up there listens to me after all. Quietly she hits me on MSN from the other side of the room to tell me about his decision. She has no idea it was my idea to do that. She tells me that she is still looking elsewhere though and asks me if I will look over her CV for her next week. If she was a focused person in what she wants to do and wants from a career I would be concerned. I play ignorant to everything she says, its something I am good at.

The afternoon ends with Mr T on Radio One on the Scott Mills show. This just might be the funniest piece of radio I have ever heard. It is a shame Mr T is over here whoring himself for Snickers bars, the public still loves him and if he just had real product to push, even just a book, he would clean up.

The working week ends to sound of Mr T on the radio. Originally The Girl in the office had suggested drinks but I really want to get home. Ironically after she has gone home I get talked into after work drinks with my boss. I only have one as I look to getting home and beginning my weekend. He comments that I am quiet this evening I just point towards my belly not feeling good. It’s a fun short session all fuelled and boasted by the impending visit from the angry Scottish boss on his way from the West End pissed off and expected to rant.

From here/there I rush public transport and actually miraculously manage to catch my usual 6.20 to Norwich. It is a so so ride home; nobody is hurting themselves to get home this evening. When the train nears Colchester I get up to get out and not get caught in the rush for the train doors. By accident I cover my nose wrong when I sneeze and only manage to shower a guy sat directly beneath me. I apologise and he does not bother to conceal his anger. Even though I did say “sorry” I find the reaction kind of funny in the face of being so disgusting and evidently the guy sat behind him found it pretty funny also as embarrassed I smile at his recognition.

On the way home I stop by my parents briefly to see the dog and snag some food. As ever I get caught up in their world of watching soaps and see Eastenders. The reality of such an act then hits me and I make sure I am home on a Friday instead of hanging out with my parents.

When I arrive home the latest Sub Pop Singles Club record is on my doorstep along with The Tony Hancock BBC Collection 8 DVD boxset that I ordered only for the Face To Face interview on the bonus disk.

I ride out the remainder of Friday night falling asleep too early to too much bad television. Would it be a better life if I had somewhere to go at this time?

So my week ends without my American Friend Mindy bothering to get in touch when my responding email to hers left the door wide open for her to get in touch. It depresses me to finally see the true colours of a person I had invested a lot in. What a dirty phoney.