Thursday, 30 July 2009

Thursday 30 July 2009

Dream 1: I am in Nottingham at a party full of Nottingham types, some recognisable by face some recognisable by name. Obviously my friend is there and as a result the whole bastardised Gringo Records legacy is dredged up much to my chagrin, annoyance and discomfort. Feeling out of sorts I begin to play up and ultimately this is frowned upon even though I can’t help but feel these people would frown on me anyway because I do not fit into their criteria and my ignorance of their version of accepted social conventions is something that doesn’t register regardless.

Dream 2: I leave my kitchen sink taps running which inevitably causes the sink to overflow and floods the worktop area in my kitchen destroying everything in its path including the latest Rothko thing.

I do not wait for the alarm clock this morning I just look at my watch and see 5.40AM as the right time to get up in order to wrestle/attempt/attack the skeleton train service this morning. It looks like its going to have to be the 6.48AM train rather than the 7.48AM – my options are limited and crap, much like the service that National Express offers its customers. It was interesting to see someone else on the television last night accusing National Express of having contempt for their customers – seriously this is how it feels.

Originally I was thinking about taking a hammer and attempting to start a riot on the train: this was only half a joke. Of course I am not that looney tunes but you can really see how a person could be driven to such means/degrees.

Arriving at the station this morning I have never seen it so quiet. Stepping through the gate the reality that the last train home tonight will be at 7PM is confirmed. This is disgusting and sick, incompetence and greed on the grandest of scales.

When the train rolls up it is a full one from Norwich. Them and their Nazi train to Auschwitz service.

On the train I stand next to some bumpkins sat in Priority Seating (for the infirm and elderly) and I begin to wonder if with my weight I qualify for this status yet. Certainly all the abuse I get for it would lead me to believe I do.

This is not a day for standing on a train as a minor panic attack hits me and my chest tightens. At this rate I will experience a heart attack within two years.

Ultimately though the journey just represents how callous and apathetic the RMT and National Express are – I genuinely do feel that my life is being put at risk on this train today with all the Bombay overcrowding.

The train arrives at Stratford at 7.25AM and by this stage I have just had enough and I get off early deciding to catch the Jubilee Line Nike swish up to St Johns Wood. This is pathetic.

My life is beginning to resemble a joke without a punch line, a sick and nasty comment without a redeeming statement at the end to justify and enforce it all.

As ever the soundtrack to my miserable journey is one of the Chunklet The Jesus Lizard live sets which I play/listen to in the hope that residue emitting from my headphones will serve to make my co-commuters experience as miserable as mine.

In the end I walk into work just after 8.15AM. I do not think I have ever been this early for this job ever before. As a result the angry boss comes in and hands me a coffee (“first in gets the coffees.”)

Around 9.30AM the consultant phones and shouts at me down the line. He is beginning to remind me of Melchett a worrying amount. He is the accounts equivalent of a Blackwater mercenary. What he requests is shit, the work is incomplete and in my opinion unsatisfactory. It is too early to be requesting information in the detail that he wants because the work has not been full/completely performed.

As a result of this nag I sail out the remainder of the day unfocused. If the guy is going to exhibit such a shitty/crappy attitude with me he has to learn/realise that my cooperation is naturally going to plummet. I am only accommodating to a point and this was a lesson Moriarty was never able to grasp a hold of either, basic leadership driving skills. Subtly I am very professional but when the climate takes me I can also switch to “doing fuck all” mode very easily also.

My boss has grief on his own plate. He was supposed to leave at 10AM for family reasons but in the end he doesn’t get away until past midday. The scene of him being forced to prioritise work over his family achingly reminds me of that in Remains Of The Day.

For lunch I opt for just soup in a gesture of being healthy but then an extra bowl of fries arrives with our order and it becomes mine. The best laid intentions.

Thursday afternoon pans out aimlessly. The highlight comes when Racton books tickets for the tenth anniversary of ATP at Christmas. The line-up for this festival gets better by the week. Otherwise however I wind up doing little in the PM, as the computers crash so do I.

Leaving at 5PM it is with fear of what train spectacle I have awaiting me ahead. I have two choices of train – the 6PM or the 7PM. I fucking hate how the commuters just take this abuse but then again what are we going to do?

Eventually I get to Liverpool Street just before 5.40PM and the 6PM train is almost already full. My misery gets compounded as I find myself crushed as some big girl decides to squeeze in next to me. As a result I just look out of the window and dream of a happy places.

By the time the train reaches Chelmsford thankfully an exodus occurs and suddenly there is room to breathe in our seats.

Sat over the aisle to my left is a light brown haired lady reading what appears to be a Collins dictionary. This is already strange behaviour to me but when she later gets bored of the book and decides to have a sleep she begins doing this strange gulping convulsion with her neck. With this in mind on top of an already foul mood I my possession I make comment on Facebook about her having “incredible spasms” to which I add “I fancy her, should I go grab her tits to see if she is all right?” OK, obviously such blunt language and gestures is not necessarily an act of decency but long after I have forgotten this comment later in the evening it comes back to bite me on the arse.

Eventually the train gets back to Colchester in what again isn’t too much of a delay in all honesty it is just the gross needless inconvenience caused by it all that leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

As I walk to the olds’ at Balkerne Heights to collect my car I see what I think is Lucy (old housemate amongst other things) stood outside the NHS call-in centre. She looks spaced out, zapped, as if on heroin. As I pass she appears to hide her face from me so I do not get the opportunity to say “hello” to her although as to how welcome this gesture might be is another thing.

After stopping off to see my parents and Bobby I head for home (Bohm Grove) around 8.30PM.

When I arrive home I check my Facebook and off the back of my grumpy comments from early regarding the lady’s neck spasms and her tits a friend called Kerry-Jo has left a response jumping down my throat:

“Wow, haven’t been this offended at a facebook status in a while! To adapt david Mitchell, there shouldn’t be any jokes that aren’t allowed, only sentiments. It makes me glad that as of tomorrow I will be in France for a week and not have access to FB! :)”

The comment comes as quite a shock and I have to admit does concern me. I cannot believe that someone has taken such a stupid comment so literally, thought so little of me to think that I actually consider this thought beyond making a nasty comment to reflect my circumstances and surroundings. It’s weird to be harangued by such a person that I seem to remember going to great lengths to demean me the last time we were out (at Jrink in Soho early last year). Hypocrisy ahoy. Ultimately though it takes two people to be offended: one to be offended and one to offensive.

We this comment playing on my mind I respond “Should I have kept schtum about the Adam’s Apple? I was just bored. I don’t know about sentiments, you can’t take a status so stupid literally, its fun to be childish sometimes. Have fun in France!”

I can do no more. At the end of the day if people don’t want to like you they will always find a reason to use against you.

Unfortunately I roll out the rest of the night with it playing on my mind. In many ways her response serves to offend me just as much as my original comment apparently offended her.

With Big Brother on in the background a minor moment occurs but it still fails to pull me from the ridiculous concern of Facebook this evening. Briefly I chat to Lucy asking if it was indeed her that I thought I saw earlier. She says it wasn’t her but from here we have something of a pleasant conversation on Facebook. She comments on the mini Facebook fracas, taking my side. I guess this is some kind of validation/vindication. She then points out that my offended friend sounds sexually frustrated, which obviously tickles me. I’d like to think so.

After this I just nod off, warm at the height of summer.

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