Friday, 14 August 2009

Friday 14 August 2009

There is a Funkadelic song named “Friday Night, August 14th” on their “Free Your Mind & Your Ass Will Follow” record. That’s the stuff.

I feel exhausted this morning. When I awaken at 5.30AM by mistake my TV is still on and on it the most depressing of shows Scrapheap Challenge is playing out loudly and annoyingly. I just beg for more time, more sleep just so that I can stop feeling so rough and rotten at this time.

Its sunny again today and with my left contact lens still playing up I waddle to the station still half asleep with half vision depressed at the prospects that lay ahead of me today.

When I arrive at the station despite what the information screen displays it appears as if it is all back to business as usual. The train is bare today; you sense that sensibly most people have taken the day off work in response to more rail carnage.

I’m feeling a seachange at work currently. Am I falling out of favour with my boss? Did my refusal to work last weekend create a permanent bad feeling? He was unsubtly grouchy yesterday.

As the train nears Chelmsford a mist drops and suddenly the day takes a shocking spin on its head. This is a climate more fitting the mood of these times.

During the journey I read the Charlie Brooker column on The Guardian website ranting about/against iPhones and it almost makes me proud that I have a cracked, punk rock iPhone. The phone remains functional, it works, its just no longer soft and pretty. For persisting with this I think in some eyes I might be admired.

While my tube to St Johns Wood sits in the Baker Street platform I see an Azmei lookalike and chilling memories occupy my mind, wrench my soul and belittle my day. Good god this lady is beautiful.

Ironically today is both the IT Guy and The Girl’s birthday. She comes in flying to which we provide a song with cakes to match. Good times.

As it get announces that it is all our birthdays in August (including the two today) the posh boss steps into the office and hands us each a bottle of champagne. This is a distinct step up on last year.

After yesterday’s blip today I am tackling troublesome areas and it isn’t coming easy and with progression being slow before I know it the time is lunchtime. Very much today is the climax of a tough, testing and tiring week.

I feel blue today.

Ultimately the most productive thing I wind up doing all morning is a Nick Cave quiz on Facebook which involves taking his song titles to describe me. This is “My Life According To Nick Cave” and is the latest thing to sweep through Facebook for all the cool kids to do. It is noticeable how it is all my Gringo Records era types doing the quiz and not something any of my old school reunitions are indulging in. Ultimately I am proud of the job I do.

All in all doing this fun thing on Facebook I guess makes a change away from my current anti USA and pro NHS rants. That Daniel Hannan guy should be shot for treason, the NHS is certainly flawed but my god it is a hardworking institution often doing great things on a shoestring budget helping out the lives of so many people.

For lunch I have fishcake for the first time in weeks. As I head downstairs I am witness/privy to a ridiculous argument between the manager and the bartender about Liverpool versus Porto. I watch as the argument descends into throwing ice cubes at each other before the manager pulls rank and orders the bartender to clean/tidy the cubes up. I find myself raising an eyebrow, mildly disgusted at this.

The afternoon holds some success as I sort (fudge) all but one of the major trouble areas. This I will now hopefully nail on Monday when I possess some kind of clear mind to approach/attack it with.

In the early afternoon I get an email from Canongate Publishing announcing the Nick Cave promotional dates for The Death Of Bunny Munro. Immediately I set about attempting to snag some tickets for his conversation with David Peace at the Purcell Rooms. When the internet fails me repeatedly the phone wins as I snag a couple of tickets in the third row. High times.

Eventually the working week comes to a climax and we get released to head home. My boss corners me into after work drinks that really I am too tired to indulge in. As a result I doubt I am good company as the boss puts in a lot of effort into conversation. He talks about an old location/site at Hanover Square at the beginning of the 90s, the arse end of the yuppie era and the start of the brave new dawn just before the realities of Generation X hit.

He begins telling me how he thinks the consultant has had swine flu, which is slightly more flattering than our recent suspicions of him being an alcoholic.

By the end of the session the boss is offering to pay to repair my iPhone. I have been flashing it around senior types for sympathy recently but I just can’t accept such a gesture.

Fatigue and hard liquor fuck me this evening as I get out around 6.45PM and stagger to the station in the process. On the way an Asian lady asks me how to get to the tube station. Its nice to know that I am still approachable.

I end up on the 7.30PM train to Norwich which feels super slow this evening. Opposite me is some ponce with sensible hair and hard frame glasses who proceeds to pull out copies of GQ and The Economist, the first of which he appears to read very closely and intently. Partway through the journey I feel a foot/shoe rubbing up against mine and I panic for a moment thinking that it is him before realising that it is actually my own foot rubbing against my other own foot. Surely I didn’t have that much to drink.

When I get in tonight it is with the sole intention of watching Big Brother. Already on the train Nina and I find ourselves texting about who we think might go and with tonight being Marcus up against Freddie it is a sad and two of the most likeable housemates are up for the chop. It is genuinely hard to decide who is going tonight. These two represent a less pandering element in the house, a more antisocial set and quite frankly recently Freddie has been acting like a loon.

Tonight the pair of them gear up for eviction in their own ways. Freddie for some reason is wearing face paint, which I don’t necessarily think is a good or healthy look.

Eventually the decision comes in and it is Freddie who goes. I however pass out before he is able to dish any dirt.

He should bite their legs.

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