Friday, 15 May 2009

Friday 15 May 2009

Today I wake up tired and exhausted feeling as if I have gone 12 rounds. When I eventually emerge I stagger around the flat coughing and spluttering.

Unsurprisingly I leave home late and wind up getting stuck behind yet another slow morning driver. Not once but twice his poodling means we both miss green at sets of traffic lights, greens that were more difficult to miss than catch. What is the deal with cars driving slowing in rush hour? That/they should be exterminated.

This morning I fouled up as I left the house in only a jumper. Then halfway down the road the rain begins. As I pull into my parents underground car park before walking to the train station I pray my missing green American Apparel hoodie is still in the boot of my car. These prayers get answered as it is, all yucky and dank but it’ll do.

Just prior to this I was listening to Scott Mills on the radio (filling in for Chris Moyles) and he is talking about suffering from being a FOMO. Apparently a FOMO is a person with a “fear of missing out” on something with his example how last night he was trying to get to sleep but all he could hear was his flatmate and friends laughing and chatting and how he was unable to get to sleep without knowing what they talking about. Scarily this is exactly how I am also. The term FOMO is a very smart and true addition to the world and its vocabulary.

Off the back of such distractions I resign myself to the reality of missing the 7.03 train out of Colchester today but with it sat in the platform with 15 seconds to spare as I step into the station I risk humiliation and run for the doors managing to squeeze in through them by a cunts hair.

As I sit down it is opposite a lookalike of the large lady from Butt Road I used to work with whose tits I once drunkenly grabbed without realising on a “fun” night out. It is with a huge sense/feeling of relief that I realise that it is not in fact Janine and instead some other bovine fraud.

Later at Chelmsford when the Boring Guy from the Boring Couple gets and heads towards one of the seats near me when I move my foot my wet shoe slips on the floor and accidentally kicks him for the second time in as many weeks. I can guess that subconscious forces are at work.

This however is a timely reminder how the DC skater trainers I only bought a couple of months ago have already gone through the soles. Why is this? Am I walking too much? Am I too fat/heavy to ever own long lasting footwear ever again?

The train pulls into Liverpool Street at 8.04 – am I really going to kick up a stink about those four minutes today?

Today at work is a slice. Sometimes I feel I am fighting a losing battle but every now and then signals of hope flash in the distance and all my efforts again feel justified and worthwhile. This too shall pass.

Regardless it all goes swiftly and so we are on the straight line to the weekend. Surprisingly both the tube and train journeys home are event free and all in all the day plays out like a breeze.

As I walk home from the station tonight I receive a text message from some old friends from Southend offering me a free ticket to the Breeders ATP that has just started this evening. I really wanted to go to the festival but now faced with the option of attending last minute I suddenly wilt at the suggestion, as I am not the most spontaneous of people. I do however hit the website and look at the stage times in order to weigh up whether I should go or not. Sadly like a bore I had my weekend planned. Boring.

Back at Balkerne Heights dad and I settle down to watch who will be playing in the division one play off final. This now has added weight since the old man has said he wants to come along to Wembley to the final.

The game is a real snore draw as MK Dons and Scunthorpe either snuff each other out or are revealed as the inept clubs that they are. As the game drones on into extra time both dad and I fall asleep at its hands. To be honest I am itching to get home and would be praying for the game to end were it not for the fact that the two teams appear to be running themselves into the ground meaning that quite possibly when they play Millwall they will be knackered. Eventually the game reaches penalties and Scunthorpe wins. I think the football world would have liked/preferred to have seen Millwall beat up MK Dons in the final both on and off the pitch but ultimately who are Scunthorpe? On the basis of this display not very much at all.

From here I head home late and soon crash not long after getting in.

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