Wednesday, 25 November 2009

Wednesday 25 November 2009

I wake up exhausted and beat, miserable to be entering into another working day.  This is a new kind of ill that is taking me.

Eventually I head out slightly earlier than usual all in a blur.

The temporary scar just above the bridge of my nose and between my eyes remains present.  It looks cool but I don’t think anyone will notice it without my bringing attention to it.

This morning the 6.52AM Norwich train arrives into our platform delayed.  I catch it even though I know it will mean having to stand the whole way to London.  This is not good for me at this time.  Also standing by the door means I have to act doorman for dozens of wanker salarymen extras when we arrive at Stratford.

It’s a weird phenomena but I don’t feel fat until I get to London.  Maybe it is the air.  Maybe it is the overheated clamminess of the public transport that causes me to sweat and my clothes to cling to my body.  I really don’t like how this swings as it only serves to play havoc with my mind and wellbeing.

Once off public transport as I step into the office the angry boss does not say “hello” or “good morning” to me today.  Oh well, shit happens.

Despite my apparent dissatisfaction with the place somehow I find myself in work at 8.30AM this morning, something of a new record.  With half an hour to kill before official work time I take the opportunity to watch the latest episode of The Thick Of It on iPlayer.  Later when the lady turns up and hears the swearing coming from my PC and my subdued giggles she asks me what I am watching and I blush at how I have managed to turn the air blue.

Against odds I have another really good day, despite the baggage/dressing this is turning out to be my most productive week in a very long time.  Perhaps this may be my best manner of operating after all: pissed off to fuck.

For lunch I again have chargilled salmon, new potatoes, beans and hollandaise sauce.  It feels like it has been so long since I have been able to have this dish.  God bless the new mispelt staff menu that we are supposed to begrudge and despise.

My productivity follows through into the afternoon until things turn weird as I end up shouting at The Girl once again.  What is it with us?  Of course with my gesture she promptly gets into a huff, a mood and a strop.  What did I expect, she’s female.  Meanwhile with the room now turning silent all that can be heard from elsewhere is the Raiders Of The Lost Ark ringtone of the angry boss’s phone.

I end the day very positively after getting a great reflection of myself in our office window.  For the first time in weeks (maybe months) I think I may actually look good.  This moment comes very well timed in the light of recent morale and proceedings.

When I get eventually get to Liverpool Street the trains are fucked with all excuses pointing towards signalling problems at Chelmsford.  With this in mind I assertively walk straight past the masses of extras and out of the station heading direct to Rough Trade on Brick Lane.  As I pass Spitalfields I see the Starbucks there advertising eggnog latte.  Surely this cannot be.  Hail Satan!

Spitalfields looks genuinely beautiful this evening, all lit up and gorgeous displaying a kind of modern vibrancy that has always felt so missing from East London.  This place is a lot nicer than anything Oxford Street has to offer, especially now that large portions of it are being turned into a horrendous building site.  More and more I find I GET East London these days.

I hit Rough Trade dead on with view to getting the new An Experiment On A Bird In The Air Pump seven inch.  I had been planning a visit here for it anything so in a way the broken trains have offered me the opportunity to do something I wanted anyway.  At first I struggle to find the single but then the floodgates open as I find the single and a spending spree ensues.  Eventually I spend £37.22 on nine seven-inch singles.  I am truly a dying breed who really should have better things to do with his money other than to try and recapture his youth.  I fear I am a modern trainspotter.  That said it has been a good year.

Fleeced from buying records as I rush back to Starbucks just before closing time I manage to snag my first eggnog latte in two years.  As soon as I sip it with my first taste it is SO sweet and good, even denser and tastier than I had remembered.

When I get back to Liverpool Street the time is just after 7PM and by now things have calmed down significantly.  Ultimately my impromptu shopping trip was a true tactical manoeuvre, a sure sign indication of commuter smarts.  As a result now of everyone cramming/crushing onto the first few wanker trains like a herd of commuter sheep the subsequent trains are now half empty.  Smackdown.

My journey home is distracted by a loud girl with red hair talking importantly about very media things.  I don’t bother to actually pay attention to any of the words she is saying, instead I concentrate on her movements and her looks which have wannabe TV presenter written all over them.  In a way I admire her falseness.

Eventually I get home to Colchester around 8.30PM with Manchester United at halftime losing their champions league game against Besiktas.  With the game on TV I half wanted to sit down and watch it tonight but now having had my evening eaten away by crap trains I feel I cannot be bothered to join the game at the second half point.

Tonight I feel desperate to get some writing done so as a result I overdose on caffeine drinks on top of the eggnog latte.  In the end I manage to complete some stuff that I have recently been labouring over but on the whole the returns are diminished by the general structure and lateness of the evening.

Later I go to sleep just after midnight only to reawaken around 3AM with Jimmy Leg.  I curse caffeine.

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