Monday, 12 October 2009

Monday 12 October 2009

Today my ears are still ringing. It is a glorious noise but soon it will be annoying.

As I leave the crib this morning once more I see The Ghost with his dog. There is a temptation to acknowledge him as I pass but there is also the fear and suspicion that this could/might open up some kind of Pandora’s Box.

Once at the station I manage to snag an amazing parking spot. I do not recall ever in my previous time parking at the station being able to find a spot/space in the covered part of the parking lot. These are most definitely different times. I guess with the inflated prices now instigated by NCP (the N standing for Nazi I believe) less people are now parking here. £92.50 a month, I could buy lots of cool and decent stuff with that money. We are consumers and we are being held up and robbed by every possible penny pinching fascist scheme.

The motif for my day remains mixed as the train only pulls into Liverpool Street at 8.10AM. A whole ten minutes late. That’s not enough lateness in order to be able to claim any kind of refund but it feels like it should be.

On the tube a genuinely breathtaking girl boards. We exchange glances until she exits at Great Portland Street. Her efforts would suggest that she is taking something very seriously, she must be either heading to a job interview or in the early stages of a good new job. Either way it’s a very affective expression of giving a hooting.

By the time I reach the restaurant this morning I feel rough. The nights are no catching up on me and I need some decent rest, it is by now long overdue. As I step upstairs and into our office once more The Girl is already in. This is a true sea change of developments.

From here onwards I find I have a pleasantly productive morning and by 11.45AM I have already completed by to do list for the day.

On the radio things seem to be perking up as Fearne Cotton plays “Just Because” by Jane’s Addiction. Not that this excuses the rest of the shit that spews from out of her mouth sounding totally moronic.

For lunch I have chorizo and calamari on couscous. As a dish this works quite well but once the frills are soon devoured all that is left is dry couscous which really doesn’t serve the dish well. I really don’t think the chefs in our restaurant know what to do with couscous; even the pots of the slop I used to buy at Portobello Road Tesco were never this dry.

The afternoon takes a real dip as fatigue kicks in and The Girl begins to go off on one at me. I’m too busy to pay her any attention and it would seem she resents this. What the fuck is the deal between us? As my back begins to cane my output begins to wane.

Soon enough 5.30PM comes around and with it time to fly home. I end up catching the 6.30PM train to Norwich after some unfortunate hold ups on the tube across town. As the train leaves Liverpool Street the fiery orange dusk sunset cuts a breathtaking silhouette across the capital’s skyline. When it passes through Stratford the Olympic stadium looks truly majestic, almost breathtaking, as it begins living up to the hype and furore attached to its unfinished existence and conception.

In the evening once back in Colchester I bypass my parents’ and head directly home in an attempt to do some writing.

Upon stepping into my flat I do the usual Monday night thing at home, which to be honest isn’t a whole lot.

The end.

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