Monday 2 November 2009
I would have liked more sleep today.
After pulling myself together I leave the house. As I pass The Ghost I wave at him, for once looking him dead in the face. Terrifying. I do not hang around for a response.
Again this morning I catch the 6.59AM train. I guess my usual extras must now be wondering what has happened to me. Then again probably not.
On the train this morning is a builder wearing a white hard hat on the train. What the fuck is he expecting on this journey?
By the time the train reaches Chelmsford the sun has finally come out and it’s all turning out to be a glorious day.
So much for my new train action as eventually its motion takes a turn for the worse and it beaches just outside Ingatestone due to an overhang of engineering work from the weekend which is apparently causing signalling problems. With these people ever get their shit together? Eventually the train dies at Manor Park. Welcome to Monday.
It is 8.20AM when the train finally pulls into Liverpool Street. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. New train, new efficient arrival. Surely.
When I waddle into work about forty five minutes later it is just about on time and into nice vibes and a good atmosphere in light of recent events. Welcome again to Monday.
I find it tough getting going today, not least for having The Girl being on one. Would someone quickly please shag her and calm her down. Please.
After the flying start on the accounts that I made last week the reality kicks in on the figures as I begin to interrogate the fiddly, messy areas. This is tough stuff, this is where I earn my keep.
Unfortunately by the end of the day I haven’t really accomplished much as I have to admit that today the figures have beaten me.
Staggering to Liverpool Street the tube is packed and unendurable and by the time I finally arrive at Liverpool Street I find myself confronted by a sea of people (extras) all looking up at an information board of beached non-moving trains. As this reality hits me I almost feel like crying. There is no doubt that this is a knock on affect from the joys of this morning.
Eventually an Ipswich train is announced as coming into a platform but when the majority of extras head towards it like sheep it becomes apparent/evident that this is a fools train. Luckily my usual 6.20PM Norwich train then slyly pulls in almost on time and so I board that in a surprisingly calm manner.
At 6.30PM it gets announced by Information Jimmy that the train will not be leaving until 6.45PM because they are waiting for the driver to arrive. How fucking pathetic an excuse is that? Shortly after this a crazy Chinese guy with a can of Stella sits at our table and makes his first gesture to begin burping.
As the train fills up around 6.50PM it gets announced that they are still waiting for the driver to turn up. If Dad’s Army had been about train travel it would probably have resembled something like this.
Eventually the train pulls out of Liverpool Street at 7PM. By this time my arse has began to fall asleep and so has the crazy Chinese guy.
Around 7.50PM the Chinese dude wakes up and swiftly takes the Travelcard of the guy sat opposite me and puts it in his pocket. For a moment we are both shocked by this gesture before the owner of the Travelcard quickly jumps into the Chinese guy’s pocket and retrieves it. Was this the worst attempt at a pickpocket in the history of crime? Playing up to his stereotype the Chinese guy responds with full smiles going “so solly” showing Travelcard guy his own ticket he apparently thought he was picking up by “mistake.”
Shortly afterwards the Chinese guy annoys everybody by getting up and going, stepping on everyone’s feet in the process. Once gone the Travelcard guy opposite pulls a face and comments “(you can) get pissed off the fumes.”
By this point the train is only just crawling through Witham, which is now known for being home of that fanny from X-Factor. As my belt continues to dig into my belly my hoodie feels tighter than ever and generally I am more uncomfortable than is healthy. Misery compounds, sadness accrues, God hates me.
Eventually the train pulls into Colchester at 8.10PM. This is a pathetic piece of performance from National Express. On the way out the car park is unsurprisingly a nightmare to get out of. Its funny how you take irrational disliking to people based on their cars. I have always hated Audis based on Kandy Pants from Butt Road expressing a liking for them and their owners. Slut.
As I crawl past the taxi rank I see the crazy Chinese drunk fella. He is close to the person ahead of him in the queue. I wonder if he is an actual pickpocket after all. Me and my racism hey, what you gonna do?
When I finally get home it is 8.30PM, which is no time to begin doing stuff.
On TV tonight is an HBO one off drama called Into The Storm which covers Winston Churchill during the second world war. Churchill is played by Brendan Gleeson who unfortunately actually awkwardly more resembles Patrick Moore than our hallowed leader. I fail to remain interested for the entire 90 minutes.
Afterwards is the repeat of Friday’s Have I Got News For You followed by Escape From New York. This all helps me get to sleep.