Monday, 16 March 2009

Monday 16 March 2009

Dream: I am back in Notting Hill. The recording studio now owns and runs a charity shop on Portobello Road. In my accountant capacity I make a visit to it to check on the stock. I head into the backroom where I discover Mackenzie Crook working at the shop behind the scenes. It appears that I am the only person that recognises him and when I question him on it he says it is research for a role. I could read into the Mackenzie Crook portion of the dream but I think it might not be a good idea. At another point in the dream I am hanging out with Tracy Morgan, itching to ask him about 30 Rock.

I wake up feeling depressed this morning. On a brighter note my foot is beginning to feel better it is just the remainder of me that is fucked. My self esteem has hit somewhere around rock bottom at the moment and the discomfort caused by the heat will only serve to heighten this for the next six months.

Despite this, much like many of my co-commuters I start out the day wearing my big coat as there is a snap in the air to the mornings still.

On the train this morning reading Thom’s Twitter it reports the latest death wrestling being Test. That’s a drag I thought recent press coverage meant there would be no more such deaths to these guys.

I have apprehension attached to work today. However as I reach the restaurant I find 50p on the steps just outside. I pick it up, surely a sign of good luck. Behind me I swear I hear through my iPod the school kids shout “Jew!” at me. That old un-PC trick still hasn’t died from my days at school.

Unfortunately the office girl does a no-show, which re-affirms my cautious approach to the day. When it is pointed out that she is at the hospital looking after her nephews while their sister is ill the response is “they’re not her kids.” I can see both sides of the situation.

Fortunately though the work panic suggested by the climax of Friday is not initially realised as the pace remains as per usual. I do however find myself in meetings covering old ground. The meetings literally make my head spin.

When I find myself in a meeting with the fiery boss for the first time I brace myself for a bollocking to the point that I gee myself up for a ruck. I guess it is fortunate when it doesn’t happen/come, it would probably have only reduced me to tears.

At lunchtime I have balsamic vegetables as some kind of gesture towards healthy eating. My body responds badly but my energy levels appear to rise.

Sara sends a text apologising for not replying to my Facebook message. I don’t mind.

Late in the day I begin to get leaned on for work I have not had time to complete (being a person down) but fortunately as leaving time hits there is another meeting occurring, one that I am not invited to and as a result I am able to sneak out.

I rush to St Johns Wood tube station and when I get off at Baker Street I see the dwarf that nearly attacked me the other morning. Once more he is rushing. He has aggro written all over him.

When I arrive at Liverpool Street it is to the notification that the 6.20 to Norwich has been cancelled. After shrugging I notice there is a 6.22 to Clacton instead so I hop aboard that one. On the train some Indian dude in sandals sits opposite me and his bare feet gross me out. It is a squashed train.

After hic-cupping a couple of times leaving London the train eventually stops at Shenfield having broken down and this only confirms to me that god hates me.

When the next train comes along it really is not prepared to take a second train’s worth of passengers. As we all squeeze onto the new train it very much becomes a Hillsborough train. I end up getting stuck between a cunt and a rucksack. As ever which such uncomfortable situations I decide to humour my co-commuters by playing my music loudly – tonight’s choice being “The Boatman’s Call” followed by Grinderman.

As the train eventually nears Colchester the battery on my iPhone begins to run out – this isn’t something people tend to talk about or mention regarding the phone.

Just before pulling into Colchester I check my Twitter account and it looks as if they have removed my Fritzl stationery joke. Rubbish.

When I finally get home the daily visit to my parents’ is a brief one. The dog’s new trick/joy appears to be to scrap at my chest and face with his claws. This hurts. If the next time you see my I am deformed, you’ll know what happened.

Finally as I get home to Bohemian Grove I actually muster up some energy to do some writing. To compliment this I run a bath to chill out in and for once upon returning home from work I actually display mature, civilised and adult traits.

All things pause when Stewart Lee’s new TV show comes on and despite my nodding off asleep towards the end he nails it, this is some of the funniest stuff I have ever seen him perform. It is definitely the funniest TV I have seen in a while. As he repeatedly lays into that mediocre hack Chris Moyles (The Korean’s favourite) my heart flutters. It is a shame that the book he tears apart is the follow up to a book dad bought me for Christmas in 2007. I love my dad but I wish he understood.

Afterwards I soak in a late bath feeling that the world is suddenly a better and happier place, regaining some edge.

Eventually I fall asleep watching Family Guy and Gavin And Stacey somewhat contradicting my comedy sensibilities of only an hour earlier.

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