Wednesday 5 August 2009
There is a headache attached to proceedings this morning. The tooth had me awake briefly during the night but thankfully not for too long and now that comes secondary in my woes.
I watch on the news this morning how Clinton bowled/swooped into North Korea and rescued those two Korean-American journalists. The pictures of him and the dude from Team America are hilarious. I swear if you look close enough and read his lips you can see him whispering, “I’m ronery”. Euna Lee is hot.
The walk to the station is easier than expected as I arrive at the station at 6.54AM super early in almost record time. Go figure, the recuperative powers of the body when faced with such obstacles and pain barriers.
I am melting today. It is not even 7AM and sweat is running profusely down my head and face. This is embarrassing. Is this fever?
The more I think of the tooth, the more it hurts. Looking at it in the mirror it is a weird fucking thing, like HR Giger has painted some evil creature slowing ripping its way out through my gums. I do not have such a tooth protruding on the other side of my mouth so I can only come to the conclusion that these are my late wisdom teeth finally coming through. I really don’t want to go to the dentist though; I don’t think I have been for fifteen years. All my dentists were rubbish are the first one committed suicide.
Walking through the gates/barriers of the station today the rail staff are laughing, full in the knowledge that this is their last working day of the week. They may as well be laughing direct into my face. Actually with this gesture they may as well be spitting in my face because it feels like that kind of mockery. More travel misery awaits tomorrow and with it more silent commuter anger.
As I slump down tired and defeated in my seat I notice three rings of muck on my Gap trousers that look very suspicious and very spunky. They’re actually probably from the Coke I spilled there last night but still it’s a bad look and a boob on my part. Note to self: stop dressing in the dark.
Once the train gets going it is the usual arduous experience and when at Chelmsford a Nick Griffin lookalike decides to sit next to me, almost on top of me, the tone of my day is established. He sits so close that his cheap suit begins to prick me. This is true.
Eventually the train pulls into Liverpool Street at 8.05AM. Shortly afterwards on the tube it feels like everyone is staring at me.
Today is a so so productive day. The outsource guy has produced a bank reconciliation using I method I have never been before. In other words it is wrong and sorting it out has now trickled into a second day. We probably paid this schmuck big bucks for these records. Invariably I will get blame from this as the other Chuckle Brother (the consultant) refuses to have a bad word said about this guy (his recommendation). Cowboy.
Leyla from the Notting Hill studio gets in touch today postponing tonight’s mini reunion. This is a blessing in disguise because I feel yucky.
In the end I wind up titting around on the bank all day which isn’t necessarily being unproductive but its not brain surgery either. Basically it’s the one job a month I can do on autopilot.
For lunch I have soup in an effort to be good and healthy. Resulting satisfaction levels however are low.
Dealing with the phone calls today I experience a company called Spitfire shouting down the line at me. A whining Scottish voice aggressively pins me down for payment I am not authorised to and cannot make. When however he tells me that his name is Fox Mckelvie I can no longer take him seriously and suddenly his aggression begins to make sense. He has been saddled with the name equivalent of short man complex. Imagine being stuck with the name “Fox” all your life. Cunt.
In a more positive note Marceline of Diskant puts JGRAM WORLD up on her Asking For Trouble website today for sale at the very competitive price of £6.
Later Mark gets in touch to tell me that he is now back in Colchester. We should hook up.
It is something of a mixed blessing having the boss sitting in our office while his own is being decorated. You feel under the focus and scrutiny but then you also notice when he gets bored, tired and sleepy. It’s a very paternal method of management, fun but not necessarily the most productive. It is very funny having your 57 year old boss telling you how good he thought Bruno was.
As the painter begins hitting (painting) our door the fumes come into the room and luckily our boss lets us out early before we all develop migraines and mini tumours. With leaving this means the joys of catching an earlier train and accidentally on purpose bumping into certain people on the train (Sarah).
Tonight when I collect my copies of London Lite and The London Paper at St Johns Wood station I begin to wonder if I am the only person in London that says “thank you” for them.
In the end I catch the 5.50PM train to Norwich and as I stomp through the carriages there I see her: Sarah. She looks as fucking miserable as ever and is not in the least receptive to me. Thankfully at the point of (almost) contact I am listening to “Here Comes Sickness” by Mudhoney (from their album “Mudhoney”) and the combination/juxtaposition of these two elements amuses me no end.
I win no friends on the train this evening as a dawdling brown couple hold me up as they decide whether to take the last two remaining seats or not. Obviously they do and when the guy takes an eternity to finally sit down and get out of the aisle (out of my way) as I hit him with my rolled up free newspapers it isn’t necessarily appreciated by him.
When we arrive back at Colchester and exit the station as I reach the pedestrian crossing at the roundabout I realise that I find myself stood behind Sarah. Her hair and her arse look great and suddenly my previous action towards her are put into a new perspective as the reality of this person being tangible hits me. I begin to question the purpose of my writing and the point of writing what happened between me and her. She I would imagine plainly thinks that I am strange and mean spirited and presented with this reality I struggle to disagree. Perhaps though she shouldn’t have given me such source material in the first place.
Getting back to the olds on Balkerne Heights I settle into annoying the dog. I hadn’t intended staying too long tonight but I wind up doing so anyway.
I get into conversation with mum asking her if she thinks that I am immature. This comes from a combination of the wedding and analysing my thoughts towards Sarah. She tells me that she thinks I was gobby at the wedding and I interrogate her as to whether she thinks this was a bad thing. I sense she does.
MTV2 is good tonight and away from her moaning that is what I stick around for.
Eventually I head home for 9PM and Big Brother – what a chump. It’s a good episode with a big barney in the household (between who though, I soon forget). I begin texting Nina about it but she is not watching. OK, so it’s only me without a life tonight then.
Afterwards as the night plays out I risk watching an out of sync/sequence episode of The Wire but with the event of it being an episode featuring Bunk being sick in the streets all signs are good and easily I am able to get into the episode stand alone.
Elsewhere I notice Channel Four are repeating Teachers tonight. Now that was a truly great show.
In the end though I just fall asleep.