Tuesday 8 December 2009
I wake up heavy this morning with a head still full of cold which comes coupled with a migraine-esqe headache. Basically I’m a fucking wreck of man.
As I leave home and get into my car a greyhound is stood in front of it staring at me. To say the thing startles me would be an understatement. It possesses the expression of Cujo and for a moment I question whether it is actually there or if I am just hallucinating off the back of my head cold. Maybe it is a ghost of a dog that was once owned by one of my neighbours. Slowly and gingerly I pull away before I notice its owner beckoning it back.
Unsurprisingly the train aren’t working again today. Information Jimmy delivers the excuse that there has been cabling stolen at Marks Tey. As far as reasons for delay go that is a pretty good one, just how does a person steal overhead cabling? Surely they would get fried in the process?
As the Nth computerised voice apologies to us for any inconvenience caused things begin to look worse than ever before. Here I stand on a platform exposed wide open to the elements as this robot voice patronises me and causes me to be late for work. God hates me.
While I wait my moment is made agonisingly worse as two whining shits of middle aged women complain vocally behind me with empty threats and self pity, at least I keep mine internal (until I write it down and out). More than once I hear how they have a lot of work to get done today as they make weak threats to just head home. My natural instinct is to turn around and tell them “well fucking go home then” but I don’t, I’m a good guy that doesn’t like to cause grief any further than it needs to be.
Eventually a train turns up very late and as we board it and get seats a series of uncomfortable station stops are made as in affect four loads of passengers at each stop are waiting to get on. This indeed is the wanker train. Finally the train pulls into Liverpool Street at 8.30AM although after the discomfort it does feel as if takes longer to arrive into town.
By this time upon arriving into London I am well and truly fucked off. As the first person clips the heals of my new DC shoes I feel fit to fight.
In the end I get into work at 9.15AM where people are almost celebrating my lateness considering how early I usually arrive in comparison. When I tell them the delay is due to overhead cables being stolen they swallow the excuse even though it sounds crazy and insane. I guess I have bought myself a lot of goodwill over the past year and a half.
Stepping into work The Girl is raving about the comedy last night and I am really happy that she had a good name because I was concerned that not knowing any of the acts beforehand she might not enjoy the show. On the contrary though she suddenly finds herself a huge fan of Stephen K. Amos.
Now in I soon tear into work, today being a tedious task of completing wages analysis sheets that will never get looked at until it is too late.
Here’s a thing. Currently I have two of my closest friends from different social circles palling up and it is making me feel somewhat uneasy. I can’t help but be concerned that while I never get mixed into their circles (which they possess infinitely more than me) they now seem intent on crossing mine. As a result all signs are now pointing to something rather negative for me. As the Ghostbusters once said never cross streams but now without my say it would appear that my streams are being crossed. Now the question is how long is it before I get cut out? This is all playing out like some kind of Curb Your Enthusiasm social convention faux pas but with its tangible risks for me it’s not really a laughing matter, just not good.
Quickly lunchtime arrives and with it again today I have chargrilled salmon, hollandaise sauce and new potatoes. This dish serves me well.
Today I officially begin my Christmas shopping by buying rubbish but expensive DVD TV box sets for mum that ultimately she is unlikely to ever sit down and watch. I don’t even spend £60 on box sets for myself.
Additionally today I treat myself to a ticket to the recording of the 100th episode of Collings And Herrin podcast as well as booking train tickets to Manchester in the new year to visit Justin and Helen. Sorted.
In the end the afternoon runs out OK. Late on I receive a phone call from the consultant who apparently fired some queries at me in his last emails. When I re-open the emails initially I don’t see anything inside but when I interrogate and click the attachment suddenly I unearth and find the queries hidden within. With this in mind I spend the remainder of the afternoon responding to these queries, some of which I feel are superfluous to requires and just in place to make the consultant look good.
With the bosses involved in another series of conference calls we all duck out at 5.30PM under something of a cloud.
Tonight on the tube at Farringdon a pregnant lady boards and immediately I give up my seat for her. Who’s a misogynist now? Unfortunately for the remainder of my journey I then find myself worrying “I hope she was pregnant and not just fat” with the mental turmoil of my decision. When she gets off two stops later at Moorgate I snag a long look at her and confirm that she isn’t exiting the train in shame and embarrassment.
Eventually when I get back to Liverpool Street I easily hop aboard the 6.20PM Norwich that wings its way back to East Anglia with its intended efficiency.
When I finally get home tonight I find I am painfully hungry, bordering on ill, in the process. Perhaps it is the flu but part of me also fears that it might possibly be diabetes.
In the end I play out the evening writing. At one point I call up Justin to return his call from yesterday which sounded concerned with all things music publishing.
I finish the day with a pretty good writing session before I eventually head to bed. Even though I’m tired tonight I struggle to get to sleep so in the background I put on my download of Yellow Submarine which is the first time I watch any of it since the time in Sacramento 2003 when I watched it out of boredom. This is still scary stuff.