Monday 23 March 2009
Dream: I go out to work and accidentally leave my flat door open. Upon returning home from work my flat has been striped and most of my belongings taken including both my PCs with all my work and writing on. Annoyingly the thieves/burglars do however leave my big TV behind because it is not a flat screen but is cumbersome and not very valuable. It is old and not very good, like a lot of things in my life.
This morning is freezing which makes leaving my coat behind at my parents last night extra annoying as I have to make a brief detour to their flat this morning, sneaking in and trying not to disturb and set off the dog in the process. Somehow miraculously I manage this though.
My walk to the station is a reasonable breeze and on the train just after leaving Colchester station a ticket inspector checks our tickets – shall I rant about this impotent act of authority again or would just be too boring?
My hair is fucked this morning – it just won’t sit down. I see now why so many of my generation just lazily clip it so short. I fear I will eventually live to realise the nightmare of having a Steve McClaren mushroom at the front of my crown while it all falls out elsewhere on top.
The tube feels like a scene from Wings Of Desire this morning as everybody, myself included, appears as if deep in thought and worry. What is it about angry looking women that make them the most attractive?
Walking down Loudoun Road I find myself almost getting run over by who appears to be Paul Weller driving a mini and not using his indicators. Grey haired old cunt. Its pretty cool though, what a way to die. Oh, I should have jumped out in front of him and got an ambulance chasing solicitor to sue him to the point I would never have to work ever again. So what if I would need to spend the rest of my life waddling relying on a cane. Evidently he drives as well as he plays guitar.
Monday morning takes another dip when my boss runs something of a preposterous idea past me regarding the accounts of our new company. The preposterous idea becomes a preposterous decision. Not for the first time management is panicking causing them to rush work which I feel is half the reason things have been in a mess. I attempt to compose a strategy to avoid this scenario but I am already too busy to dedicate time to anything else.
Despite this I do manage to find myself online being wowed by the new set of music videos from Ayumi Hamasaki. My jaw literally drops.
The office girl spends the day complaining about her bad neck. This comes after she shows us all the bruises on her arms that came from play fighting with some guy at the weekend. She is adamant she never lost.
I sail out the remainder of the day in standard mode until the boss mentions a “four figure bonus” for meeting March and April deadlines. My ears suddenly prick up; this is quite a good incentive.
Despite this regained vigour the boss then proceeds to tell us we can leave early this evening. Any other boss and I would suspect this some kind of test. This one however, he talks me into having after work drinks with him. As ever I hold my tongue after having learned the errors from binge drinking with my bosses in Colchester circa 2003.
Ultimately leaving early sees me catching the 7.08 train home instead of my usual 6.20. I board the train feeling tipsy and wobbly, a fact that is not assisted by the necessity of having to stand on the train until Chelmsford. As a result I begin to feel sick.
On the way home I stop by the olds’ place as ever and tonight do the “haven’t been drinking” trick that teenagers do. The dog is very happy to see me; I wonder what my parents must do to him during the daytime while I am not around.
After a quick drive-by to get petrol I finally get home around 9.15. Upon returning home the new Rup CD (“Just Woke Up”) has arrived in addition to the Tony Hancock CD I ordered. Good times.
I manage to squeeze out a little writing before the Stewart Lee TV show comes on. This week it is less vicious than last but still very inventive. At one point however I do find myself becoming paranoid thinking that I hear a friend laughing in the audience at a joke he would find particularly funny and topical. Did my friends go to the taping and not tell/invite me? The clues match. Paranoia.
Unfortunately for a second week running I find myself falling asleep before the end of the show awakening an hour later with Not Going Out on TV instead. What kind of comedy vortex was this?