Monday, 30 November 2009

Monday 30 November 2009

Dream: my local population has been wiped out and in Douglas CouplandGirl In A Coma” style only a handful of us remain.  Of the remaining people we splinter off into two groups of six people each made up of me and a group of ladies in my life against a group populated by the bullies from school who I vividly recognise.  Our group moves to get away from them but they want to stop us and as we set up opposing camps there is a sense of them watching us, creeping up on us ready to pounce.  Then a number of people return including dad but not mum.  Some kind of rough alternative normality returns as a few shops get re-opened with heavy security.  Amongst the security in a large makeshift store inside an HMV is Moriarty from Baker Street.  It seems the original group of bullies are now running things.  More than ever we in our group are determined to get away, the suggestion of which is to hit seaside towns.  Dad is coming along with us also.  As we prepare to leave the bullies once more endeavour to scupper us.

I wake up just before 5AM laying the wrong way round on my bed.  As I turn around and resume normal sleep before I know it the time is 6AM and time to get up even though I am still tired.

My throat feels like a wasteland directly connected to my heart today.  I think I may have caught my winter cold.

When I get into my car the first thing I hear are the sickening strains of Vernon Kay on Radio One filling in on Chris Moyles’ morning show.  Talk about replace one sycophant with another.  Can’t someone release the dogs on him?

Today I ride into work listening to the rest of the post-apocalypse movies episode of Tank Riot podcast.  Having listened to the first half yesterday this show could well be responsible for the dream I had earlier.

As we arrive at Liverpool Street I perform my good deed for the day by getting in the way as a guide dog appears to be leading his blind owner off the platform.  Does he (the dog) really hate his job that much?  Quite frankly I am a hero.  Where’s my statue?

Later by the time I am emerging at St Johns Wood it is into a rainy, shit day that sees me getting drenched on the short walk to the restaurant.

Things pick up slightly though when the Filipino brings in mince pies for us all.  I guess this means that Christmas has now arrived.

Flipping on my PC I expect an email or two from the consultant but to my surprise there is nothing.  As a result thankfully without the hindrance or his misdirection I am able to plough through another good day of work.

Things are strange this month, I am not feeling any real pressure to supply accounts at any given time and as a result I am not getting any feedback or queries as a result.  Because of this I am finding I am able to do more work to the balance than I am usually able to but I still can’t help but think the shit is going to hit the fan at some point.

Regardless for lunch I have penne with The Girl forgets to describe as penne with chicken and as a result it arrives as just pasta and sauce.  This is the most pathetic dish I have ever been served at this place but I don’t complain too much, just make repeated remarks about it.  In the end I pour some tomato sauce on top of it to liven it up.  Halfway through the angry boss pops his head into the office probably having heard my complaints.  He inspects (literally) all our dishes and when I describe mine as “vegetarian penne” it almost gets a laugh.  Perhaps this was a higher power pointing out to me how I need to stop having heavy carb penne.  Later on in the afternoon he brings in pink glazed donuts for us, the kind that Homer Simpson eats.

Today I set up my latest website which is the Facebook Cull, my entry into the 100 Days To Make Me A Better Person event run by the London Word Festival with Josie Long at the helm.  When I decided that this would be my contribution immediately it occurred to me that it came with a negative mean spirited feel in comparison to everyone else’s endeavours.  Still I need to clip from my Facebook friend list because there are so many people on there that are now irrelevant to me who actually resemble bad memories for me.  This should be an interesting exercise.

With it being mum’s birthday tomorrow after work tonight I head straight to Bond Street in search of some presents for her.  I already have a few gifts I bought on the internet but realistically its not enough.

My first stop this evening is Selfridges where I go in search of a tin of eggnog their food hall apparently sells at Christmas.  Unsurprisingly I don’t find any but thankfully I do manage to find a little cake in a snowman bag that I think mum might like (even if the overpriced tat comes in at nearly £9.99).  I then also find a strange American jar of marshmallow called Fluff which I figure makes for a fun gift/present.

Suddenly in the groove of shopping I next hit paydirt by finding a weird Robin redbreast money box ornament in John Lewis which resembles just the kind of tat she likes.  Good work.  My shopping streak then continues as I decide to buy her A Christmas Story on DVD which is without doubt in my mind the best Christmas movie there is.

Inevitably I wind up record shopping arriving at a near empty Sister Ray with the pouring rain hurtling from above.  Truly there is nothing I can find that I want in this shop which is depressing to consider how I would once want to buy more than I could afford in the place.  I swiftly exit the shop.

As ever I cut through deepest darkest Soho to get to Fopp as the hyper sexualised aura of clipjoints and gay themed shops take hold.  Arriving at Fopp I experience a bit more success with my gift hunting as the Christmas gift theme continues as I buy a Stevie Wonder Christmas album and the Phil Spector Christmas album, which I half suspect I bought her as a gift a few years ago.  By way of self reward I also by myself some tat that I think I want but do not need.

Once done at Fopp I head up Charing Cross Road popping into Borders which is now well into the process of administration as the shelves begin to depressingly clear as the percentage reductions that the store is offering on books just reeks of desperation and how the end is nigh.  I spot both new Hunter S Thompson books and with significant reductions in mind I am almost tempted to buy them before I realise that considering the girth of the tomes I am unlikely to ever find the time to read them.  Briefly I toy with the idea of heading upstairs to see if Starbucks is open to get a coffee but when I notice Borders have switched their escalator off (seemingly in a cost cutting exercise) I just cannot be bothered to walk up the stairs.

I really hope the Charing Cross Road Borders survives.  As with the dearly departed Oxford Street branch this is a store full of memories for me as it always appeared to offer more than the average Waterstones.

By the time I get to Tottenham Court Road it is past 8PM and suddenly I feel desperate to get home because I am wet and knackered.  Thankfully I get to Liverpool Street in time to catch the 8.30PM Norwich train which serves me well.

Eventually I get home just before 10PM too tired to do anything.  In the end I just fall asleep watching Entourage.

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