Tuesday 12 May 2009
After a weekend away it is back to work today. I wake up spluttering again but at least the back spasms are now only marginal and a minor discomfort.
When I awaken the sun is out in full flow and I fear that I have overslept but when I check my watch/clock it is 5.50. I attempt to milk those final ten minutes before the alarm clock kills the peace but it doesn’t work out.
I had more dreams last night. Once more these were set in a modernist Colchester that is a regular setting for many of my various angst dreams. As to what else happened in the dream, that is now sadly lost to history.
As I drive to the train station the two police cars that were outside the house on Butt Road last night are still there. This can only point to trouble.
ATP has left me in a strange place mentally, one filled with concern and worry. Why was it such a distinct failure? Probably on the whole it comes from how friendships at the event felt laboured, tested and in one particular case (Chris) non-existent. People fucking ruin everything.
After my first train journey it days it reaches Liverpool Street at 8.05 and once more it seems I am back to the old delayed regime.
At Liverpool Street I see a lady midget (midget lady) – so what does that say about my current stress levels and frame of mind? Female troubles?
On the tube this morning I cannot work out whether the guy covered in camouflage sat next to me is either a soldier or a subscriber to (bad) fashion. Either way the beret unnerves me.
Looking at my DC trainers I have come away from the weekend with the shoes ruined or rather the left shoe ruined. Ironically though I seem to remember that it was my right foot that people appeared to be taking most enjoyment out of trampling. Go figure.
Stepping into work everybody seems happy to see me. It would appear that on Friday night I accidentally called the IT Guy and left a four-minute voicemail on his phone with probably Devo playing in the background. Bad iPhone.
I am slightly ashamed of the way that I drift through the day and ultimately I produce little in the way of work.
One of the first tasks I feel necessary is to send out a “greetings and thank you for the weekend” email to my chalet mates sensing/feeling that I have come away from ATP with bridges that need repairing. Nobody replies, paranoia thrives.
OK, Racton at least gets back to me a little later, downbeat but OK. He tells me that Baldwin thought it was a “great ATP” which serves as evidence that he has finally gone over the edge and become one of those mindless jerk Nottingham scenesters. Ignore me at the weekend you fucking swine.
In the afternoon some drippy foreigner that used to work at our old Kensington site comes in claiming that we owe him £750. The reality is that he cannot read or understand his payslip but getting rid of Borat is hard work especially when I am spluttering with cold flu every other word. The guy reminds me of one of those Eastern European players that used to play for the Sacramento Kings. In his defence though I myself am still trying to get my head around Tronc and that silly method of taxing service charge and tips. Thankfully he eventually fucks off but the guy ain’t happy with his explanation. Mate go shoot some hoops and cheer up, with such a personality it is no wonder they sacked you.
Eventually a tough day comes to its conclusion and after the usual tedium of the tube journey from St Johns Wood to Liverpool Street I board my usual 6.20 train and wait to go home for some much needed sleep. With the train however having already sat in the station for far too long it is announced that it will be another eight minutes before take off due to signal problems. How on earth can they be so specific? In reality this can only signify a major delay ahead.
It is at this point that I see my cousin who is getting married this summer, which serves as a timely reminder of how I do not have a hope in hell of snagging date for that day.
Luckily my pessimism does not reach fruition as the train eventually manages to get back to Colchester with only the reported eight-minute delay. Me of little faith.
On the way home I stop off via my parents at Balkerne Heights where Bobby is happy to see me. I can only imagine how much they torment him during the day in order to make him so happy to see me. Snowy was never this bonkers.
After lingering at their Bakerne Heights crib for far too long (as ever) I head home. Back in my own place I return to discover my latest Lovefilm movie has turned up – good times.
Tonight I endeavour to do some writing but only scrape a little as I begin to watch the last Charlie Brooker coupled with looking for my missing flashdrive.
I head to bed for 10PM and this week’s 606 with Danny Baker. After falling asleep during the show I re-awaken at 11.30 where I feel I have no option but to put on the latest episode of Saturday Night Live which I half watch prior to passing out.