Tuesday 21 April 2009

Dream: in my dream I wake up to find that all the information on my iPhone has been wiped and all the applications and icons have been moved and/or changed. The lost data devastates and panics me.

When I wake up again (for real this time) it is with a sense of relief that my iPhone has not actually been tampered with in reality.

Getting dressed this morning is difficult I just have no clothes that fit me any more. Its not so much I have overgrown the old ones its that the sizes of the new garments are just smaller. Is this a subliminal measure and tactic by the government, The Man and the world to make people trim down? This is a measure and tactic that appears to be failing miserably.

I leave wearing my big coat walking into a misty and chilly morning in full knowledge that by the time I reach London the coat will be rendered unnecessary as the day blooms into something distinctly summer-esqe. It’s a hassle leaving at this time.

Upon arrival at the station this morning trains are cancelled and delayed – welcome to the week proper.

Once on a train though I watch as the Piers Fletcher-Dervish lookalike sits opposite me grimacing with an apparent gammy leg. After yesterday I can thoroughly/totally/completely empathise with this/him.

Sat next to me today is a guy with a laptop. Oh the joy of being nudged in the ribs every five seconds for an hours journey while this schmuck finishes off spreadsheets he should have completed last night at home. I guess he can’t rock the “my dog ate my homework” excuse.

During the journey I think about Beaumont Seymour today with my most mature head to date. This probably has something to do with my payrise and how I am now earning £22K more than when I was when they sacked me but some kind of fondness towards the place resonates with me at this time as fond memories of that job return to me.

Today is an 8.12 arrival into Liverpool Street just because I am busy and could really do with being on time into the office or even getting a head start on/to proceedings.

At Kings Cross a little person in a suit gets on the tube only to shuffle through passengers panicked and run off the carriage before the train even has chance to leave the station. Is he a modern pickpocket?

As I arrive at St Johns Wood station the train (and my life) syncs perfectly with the close of “First Big Weekend” by Arab Strap. This is my soundtrack at the moment; this is how I positively view life – bedraggled and wasted.

Walking towards the restaurant I see Harry Enfield dropping his kid off at school. There is something about seeing a celebrity that will improve any day and make it better.

My walk to the restaurant concludes with “Rickys Theme” arriving on my iPod which coupled with the beautiful sunny morning truly paints a picture that equates to all feeling right with the world.

The optimism is short-lived unfortunately as entering into work people are already in and I sense an atmosphere in the air that does not feel/bode well.

Despite my clothing (and body) issues this morning unfortunately I find that before 10AM I have already been handed a bacon and egg sandwich followed by a jam doughnut. What is it with people feeding me? It has always been the way and I suspect it will always remain so.

Today is another busy busy day but today is the BIG deadline day – make or break.

Nora tells me how the Jeff Buckley CD I gave her to give to her little girl had made her daughter cry. Whoops, that wasn’t supposed to happen but with hindsight I can see how.

By the end of the day we get there – we meet the deadline when met with an excessive amount of pressure and people becoming quite flustered in the process.

£3672.89 is the magic number.

Shattered I don’t even bother with kickboxing tonight, especially with Liverpool v Arsenal on TV. I leave slightly late and wind up catching the 6.30 to Norwich instead of the 6.20.

On the journey I come to the realisation that I’m not materialistic on purpose it has just been thrust upon me.

Tonight I sit next to a guy on the train that is watching The Simpsons on his laptop. Even without sound the show is fucking funny.

When I stop by my parents’ place the time is 7.45 the place looks like a bombsite. Hungrily I tear into more bad food in the process of raiding their cupboards.

In addition to nibbling on the food tonight I dip into the booze as a real urge for a White Russian overcomes me. As I look into the old man’s booze cupboard it is stocked sky high with bottles a plenty of duty free hooch that he hasn’t really had the desire to polish off. A few years ago he went through a short phase of wanting to learn how to make cocktails but ultimately that proved something of a fad. So as a result this evening I benefit as I find not only one but two large bottles of Kahlua. When however I mix it with the milk, the milk seems/appears distinctly off.

As I sup at the off alcoholic beverage I find myself once more veering away from the football on Sky Sports (Liverpool v Arsenal) instead choosing to watch The Simpsons instead. When these episodes eventually end I flip back over to the football to discover Arsenal are surprisingly beating Liverpool 1-0. The noise coming from Anfield is impressive although it is tough to imagine anybody getting too passionate about the Premier League. As the game reaches half time, the real time reaches 9PM and once more I find myself distracted and veering towards more cartoon comedy in the form of South Park on Comedy Central.

Early into South Park I find myself falling asleep and/or passing out. Whether this is the work of the Kahlua and off milk is open to debate but all I know is that it makes for a rude awakening back to the Liverpool v Arsenal game, which appears to have suddenly sprung to life, and is now 3-3.

With ten minutes to go I suddenly take interest in the game and when Arseshavin (or whatever his name is) scores at the death it thoroughly reminds me of Michael Thomas’ winner in 1989 on that dank Friday night a few weeks after Hillsborough. When he scores and it goes in I don’t even realize it is his fourth of the evening, such is my confused (and possibly drunk) state. Despite this Anfield remains a noisy fortress of a football ground and unsurprisingly they squeeze out an injury time equalizer that can only serve to make the casual viewer spit out loud.

For a second Tuesday running the match on TV between two of the top four ends in a 4-4 draw. Just what this says about the modern state of top flight football is another thing. To be honest with teams bogged down by foreign names I do not recognize that are coming in at a rapid rate through a revolving door that is seeing just as many names going the other way it slightly cheapens what could be regarded as classics in another light. Unfortunately however with stars missing from these games (and Arsenal being full of fucking no-names) they are just like reserve and/or practice matches. If I were at Anfield I do not think I would be making the noise that their fans were tonight.

Not long after the final whistle I head home where Danny Baker laughs it up on this tonight’s 606 show.