Thursday 19 March 2009
Weird dreams: only in portions and lacking cohesion the two thinks that struck me last night were finding myself walking down Pier Avenue in Clacton only to find myself passing my American friend and her weird Merchant-lite looking boyfriend. Nothing happens. This is then followed by another meeting at work similar to yesterdays, with the Baker Tilly dude telling me he has found a new problem with the accounts. It appears that work is now not only cutting into my private/personal life it is also rearing its head in my subconscious. I am obsessed with these things!
Today’s date is a big deal to me as it is the first anniversary (of many) that I left Baker Street. With hindsight so much went wrong with that job and in my defence the majority of woes were not my fault. I think there were two major errors beforehand in a) my desperation to take the first job offered to me (a six grand salary hike in one leap would be tempting to anyone) and b) the rushed manner in which the employment agency conducted itself and the apparent lies it told me about the role and portfolio I would be inheriting. I should have perhaps taken it as a sign when on my way to the second interview a train on the tube derailed.
I still remember vividly this day last year. The woman that made my life hell for seven months barely left her office all day on my final day and as I left the office the sneering evil look that Mr Dales gave me was an indication with hindsight of the problems that I would have getting my final paycheque out of the company coupled by some kind of bogus acusation (sic) of my speaking to a client about fees.
So here I am one year later full of regret of going to that place at all in the first place. It still baffles me as to what went wrong. I guess not being what I would call a “Stepford employee” went against but just as to why to frosty lady from Shropshire (Moriarty) thought she could get away bullying me in the manner she bullied my predecessor out of the company also (apparently) is a mystery. At the same though the company obviously works in the manner it operates even if by appearance it is built on sand. I feel a lot of anger and resentment towards the company at times but ultimately it is disappointment of a failed opportunity to potentially strike gold for all parties involved.
Otherwise though, away from such reminiscing and analysis I feel good this morning. In a false economy my clothes feel baggy and as a result I feel lighter. XXL will always do that to/for a person.
The walk to the station is painless although the debris I see on the way causes concern. First I pass a car number plate followed by a taxi badge, quite possibly from the same vehicle. Next the flattened Pringles tube is a little more to be expected but is still representative of some kind of aggressive act and this carnage is finally completed by puke at the bus stop outside the train station trickling into the road that I have to tactically step over – what the fuck was going on last night?
On the train the lady from Colchester that Warren from Baker Street used to work with and introduced me to exactly one year ago sits next to me. Talk about coincidence. We do not bother to acknowledge each other though, that would take effort.
The train pulls into Liverpool Street eight minutes late. I am now finding myself becoming fucking obsessed with recording how late my train is every morning.
As I emerge from St Johns Wood station towards the restaurant I notice a Gym Mum with an absolutely insane fanny bulge. It looks as if her snatch is larger than my cock! It is only noteworthy as an example of how Gym Mum’s really should find something else to do with their days after dropping their spoilt brat off at school. So what is it exactly that I find attractive about these things?
Despite stepping into work with much apprehension it all turns out OK. The highlight of the day for everyone is when I fall off my chair reaching down to pick up a piece of rubbish off the floor that the girl threw at me in the first place.
Today my heart pops.
As I leave work I chat with the manager for an extended period and then my boss comes down on his out also and we briefly take the time to have some wind down drinks. As a result of this I find I am a little bit pissed on the train ride home.
While walking home via the olds Staff creeps up behind me just as I am losing my shit to the Wackness mixtape DJ D-Nice did for the movie. It’s great to bump into him even if conversation is a bit stunted but friendly after we have both obviously had tough days.
Stopping by my parents’ place to see the dog I pull the teenagers trick of pretending to have not had anything to drink at all.
After a microwave burger I am somewhat sobered up and ready to head home to very little other than bad TV and comfortable bed.