Tuesday 19 May 2009
Damn good dream but sadly now all but forgotten. I think it had this year's UK Eurovision entry acting interested in me. That was cool.
It is a so so entry to the day. Getting ready is routine, leaving home is routine, walking to the station is routine.
When I arrive at the station there is already something of a crowd on the platform. I swear the lady with the round Disney face has clocked me perving over her these days, she always has an expression of disdain when I look at her. That said I think she pretty much has a permanent look of disdain so probably she is just one of those types.
There is a minor bundle to get on the train this morning and in front of me is the blonde woman with tweety bird nose and HUGE fuck off bags under her eyes. Obviously she thinks she is this shit but really, despite the fact you wouldn’t say “no”, she is just shit. I have to concede at this point this spite comes from the fact that she sits in the sit I ordinarily sit in every morning, in other words MY seat. Is this a faux pas on her part or a faux pas in my head? Me and my OCD tendencies. Compulsive.
I feel low today and when the guy from the boring couple of Chelmsford appears to purposely avoid sitting next to me I seem to take it personally, take offence when usually I would take subtle amusement in my petty victory.
Any such feeling of victory is soon quickly swept aside as at Shenfield some tall twonk twat in a suit crowds the seat instead. As he plays with Blackberry I feel like wrapping it around his skull.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I really would have thought by this age that I would have grown out of thinking such things and possessing irrational contempt. Still, at least I still have a little fire unlike the people I find myself targeting.
The train pulls into Liverpool Street this morning at the disappointing time of 8.04. Tardy. From here the tube journey turns out to be boring and nondescript today, which is perhaps probably for the best on this date.
Not long after getting into work my boss forwards a text to me from The Girl. It reads: “Hi. Sorry im still poorly, went to the doctor and theres nothing he can give me. Will try and make it in tomorrow. Jen.”
Jesus, went to the doctor and there’s nothing he can give me? What the fuck? Has she got Aids or Cancer or something? Has she got the most trotter filled dose of swine flu known in this country? Of course she fucking has not, her and her on-off boyfriend are about to be slung out of their flat and they need to find a place to live. I know now EXACTLY how Claire felt when she finally got pissed off and stopped talking to her.
Yesterday’s working day closed with a very strong ending and today I was hoping that it would continue through today but it just doesn’t happen, I suspect the annoyance of the absence above is what serves to knock the wind out of my sails in addition to the added work on wages that now needs to be covered. When people phone up and ask for her and then redirect their queries to myself I truly feel like telling them to “fuck off” or give them The Girl’s mobile phone number.
At lunchtime in a foul up with the IT guy taking one of the auditor’s lunches I am accidentally given an extra salad which I feel guilty about wasting so I endeavour to eat. Salad is boring though and with Nora looking on suddenly I find myself beginning to choke on a stringy bit of lettuce. This sets up the afternoon with a sense of healthy food poisoning.
An additional sense of death enters the afternoon as Pauly reports the apparent death of Patrick Swayze and almost accidentally sends it viral. Soon however the confusion is cleared and it would appear he is still kicking.
At the close of proceedings I head home via my usual route and when I hit/reach Barbican I see a man with a Hitler moustache – not a good look.
As an amazing looking Japanese lady sits opposite me on the train it causes me much discomfort in my loins as I experience some kind of epiphany with regards to my tastes, desires and attraction. What is it I really look for in a person? The realisation strikes me that we she actually to give me the time of day and we get into some kind of conversation I could almost guarantee that we would soon lose interest in each other so to have such an exchange based on looks and physical features yet again would prove pointless and a waste of time. Luckily as the train reaches Colchester and she gets up and disappears so do such thoughts.
On the walk from the station to my car I listen to the latest episode of Tank Riot (about zombies) during which they unleash a new band called The Zombeatles onto the world. This is the funniest music I have heard all year.
Per usual I stop by the olds at Balkerne Heights on the way home trying not to get suckered into watching the soaps with them. Luckily Tuesday is without doubt the worst night of the week for telly and so I am heading home to my own gaff with the minimum of discomfort.
When I finally get home it is to an evening of pottering about and this week's 606 with Danny Baker.