Thursday, 30 April 2009

Thursday 30 April 2009

Old too soon.
Smart too late.

Today I wake up fairly amused. Getting up and going is a relative breeze.

When I get to the station again the platform is packed for another day running. Why the sudden surge of commuters? They are also on the whole new faces. It is only a matter of time I feel before I begin to see ex-work colleagues and certain school “chums.”

Included in this batch today is whom I affectionately refer to as the “Weird Couple”. These are not to be confused with the “Boring Couple” that get on at Chelmsford; these two are just horrendously looking individuals with a distinct evil tone to their expressions and the manner in which they carry themselves. They barely look out of their twenties but rigor mortis does appear to be already setting in. He sits with a constant sneer and sports a smug superior expression on his face with a look that translates as “you are dirt to me.” He is explicitly thin on top (his hair) in the style of some kind of TV movie serial killer. I have no idea what his job is but no doubt it involves the eventual killing of people in the third world. He reminds me of a bumpkin type that exercises nepotism to get a really good in the city. When I was a school I punched one of these types and proceeded to live my next three years at school getting occasionally roughed up back by the bumpkin. I have heard the guy speak once rocking a country accent and a goofiness with it.

The girl though looks even more evil. I have never heard them speak to each other and in actuality the chances are that they are just as likely to be brother and sister as they are a couple. She is short and hostile and looks like pure torture. A person would not like to get on the wrong side of her it would seem. I try not to stare at them but I feel I have to so that they are unable to suckerpunch me.

This distraction comes to an end however as a bovine moose of a woman rocking the Susan Boyle look decides to squeeze into the seat between me and some other lardy bloke on his laptop. As she squeezes and shoehorns her way in I find myself being shifted in my seat to the point one buttock is almost on the floor. Room for a little one? Yes but only a little one not this fucking pig of a person. What on earth ever possessed her with the notion that there would be room enough for us all on this seat? I persist however grimacing and hating.

I look opposite me at the row of the three seats ahead. I almost sense amusement on the faces of the weird couple as it becomes evident there is a real contrast in those three svelte people sat together opposite us. Surely there should be some kind of sensible rearrangement going on here.

The large woman sat next to me is sporting a neckbrace and it fucking annoys me for no rational reason. To bug her I turn up my iPod in the hope that she bites and complains giving me the opportunity to snap back “well don’t fucking sit there then.” This does not happen. Instead I clock that the pair of us are wearing green trousers and blue tops – Jesus, we are twins! I look around and begin to worry that my fellow commuters/passengers might begin to think that we are related.

Then this distraction comes to a close as the train fills up at Chelmsford prompting some woman to stand in the aisle behind me and proceed to accidentally (yeah right) hit me on the back of the head with her bag for the remainder of the journey.

The ultimate insult occurs when I look at the lady opposite me and realise she is wearing mirror sunglasses and now when I look straight ahead of me all I can see is my bedraggled and suffering reflection and grimacing expression.

It is with a great deal of relief that this train journey comes to an eventual end and I am able to amble into work in a fairly good mood happy to now be far away from all the strange people on the train today.

Once more today feels very much like the calm before the storm at the work as I piece together groundwork on the April accounts (always a task with April not actually having ended yet) coupled with busy work. In the end I manage to sail through the day without too much drama.

Looking on Facebook and Myspace today I see some pictures of a Japanese friend (through Mark) Yuko getting married in Japan. It is really funny and amazing to see so many people from Hanami all dressed up in their home country. Mark is on the photos looking dapper and immediately I feel drawn to emailing/messaging everybody in the photos that I am vaguely in contact with. Such events blow my mind. Yuko responds (from Tokyo) almost immediately and it is really great to hear from her.

Again our boss lets us out slightly early which is a relief as the sunny evenings are lush and I find myself wanting (desiring) to be home as soon as possible.

On the tube ride again some frumpy bovine woman squeezes into the seat next to me – what is the deal with today and people squashing me on public transport? And the circle is complete.

Against the grain today I catch the 6.00 to Norwich instead of the 6.20 and for a few minutes I panic wondering if it is one of those weird Norwich trains that doesn’t actually stop at Colchester.

My question gets answered when I see Sarah on the train. Swiftly I scoot past her half hoping she doesn’t see me, half hoping she does and responds, half feeling smug and half feeling ashamed.

I cannot remember the last time I saw Sarah in any capacity. It is something that I have thought about many times, often with regret, as it is probably why I never hear from Azmei any more, why she doesn’t reply/respond to my emails.

Back in Colchester while I walk all North Station Road to my parents’ to my car I bump into another ex-work colleague in the form of John from Disney. It is almost awkward for a moment as he had wanted to head out Good Friday and I ignored his message but we don’t mention this instead choosing to compare current positions at work. Despite the ten year age gap it is obvious that we both think we are better than each other at our respective jobs. Our moment doesn’t last long thankfully.

This is the most gorgeous evening, perhaps the best this year so far. In an ideal world I would have somewhere to go right now, a place to be and somewhere to take full advantage of the summer sun and breeze. This could be the healthiest way to live.

When I call around the old people’s home the dog still appears to be out of sorts, down, ill and/or knackered.

As dad takes the dog for a walk with mum not home I grab my Wii guitar and bash out some Guitar Hero 4 action. This game now allows you to choose a setlist and with slim pickings this will now always have to include “Kick Out The Jam”, “Freak On A Leash” and “One Armed Scissor” – the surprise hits of this title. Sadly I am bored of the majority of the remainder of the song picks.

Eventually I manage to get home to Bohemian Grove where I blaze up a Cuban cigar (cheap) and excitedly watch my download of the Tyson documentary.

The Tyson documentary is truly amazing. It is very candid and very emotional. I have personally always loved Tyson; he was the ultimate bad guy and a real killer with it. The fact he went off the rails so crazily only added to his HUGE legacy. Here was a man that had it all and blew it. He went to prison and came back returning to the world champion status once more.

The documentary by James Toback is strangely empowering in a perverse kind of way. The mentality of Mike Tyson is really level in a strange and scary way for a person supposedly so violent and dysfunctional.

I have to admit I had never before seen the footage of Robin Givens humiliating him on television and in a way you figure the Desiree Washington incident (whatever) was always going to be inevitable.

As a portrait of the man it appears to get him perfectly as a tortured and flawed person of wasted ability and a real understanding/knowledge of life that has come with age. To see him well up and begin to cry is bordering on emotional for the viewer who while emphasising with the loss and pain of a father figure cannot help but recall the balance of horror and negative gestures.

At the end of the film it feels too short, as if the surface has only be scratched and that Tyson is a person you could listen to for hours or maybe days because he is offering something of a fresh perspective and isn’t afraid of upsetting people with what he says provided it fits in with his beliefs. What a beast.

Mike Tyson is however a prime example of how you can never trust a person with a lisp. Chris Martin has a lisp, my ex-partner on Gringo Records has a lisp and Mike Tyson has a lisp.

Afterwards I fall asleep during the final episode of Newswipe this series. The sleep and the quality of the show are not connected.

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