Wednesday 2 December 2009

Why do people tell you they are going to do something and then just not bother?

I’m OK this morning, still coughing, still spluttering and now also sneezing.

As I leave the flat I put my hand in my coat’s left pocket the bottle of cough syrup that mum gave me last night appears to have leaked into the pocket creating a sticky mess within.  A few years ago I would not have allowed this to happen.

I get to the station early so that I can pop into WH Smith and get some cough sweets: Lockets, Tunes, Strepsils, anything.

By the time the day gets to London I feel as if I am bordering on delirium.  As I look around so many people look like people from my past, people I probably have contention with and definitely do not want to see (in any capacity, real or lookalike).  My flu hallucinations perhaps go too far when I think I see The Predator on the tube carrying a spirit level.  Should I even be leaving the house at this time in this state?

As I change lines at Baker Street some extra clumsily near stabs me with his umbrella.  These salarymen really do not know how to handle their umbrellas.  As I casually poke it away he turns to see what I am doing to him.

Eventually I step into an empty restaurant and pour myself a much needed/desired glass of orange juice; these are the benefits in a place with a bar.  My cold is finally crucifying.

On the radio again this morning is Vernon Kay.  This is a person that possesses the talent and personality of a sock puppet without a hand inside it.

I hobble through the morning struggling with even the most simple journal adjustments.

For lunch I hit the penne with chicken in the hope that it will be spicy and clear some sinuses.

All day Facebook keeps telling me to get back in touch with Zoë at Baker Street.  I don’t think Facebook quite understands the situation that occurred between us.

Eventually I make headway in the afternoon and the consultant finally gets in touch requesting some schedules.  His request is a bit annoying but it does point to some progression finally.

Towards the end of the day while I am sorting this request out the heavens open and slowly a few drips begin coming through the ceiling of our office.  Not long afterwards the drips become heavier and suddenly it looks like our roof is leaking again.  Nonplussed I continue with my schedules for the consultant while the others run around looking to put bins beneath the leaks and cover up anything electric.

As this occurs I find myself also distracted as Nina’s Facebook statuses suddenly go bonkers as her account has plainly been hacked.  Ordinarily I wouldn’t give a fuck but then I read the status: “i am a little anal slut that loves the cock and i hate all my friends and i have shagged all there boyfriends but jason is a fuckin dick so dnt even talk to me agen bell end xx.”  What the fuck did I do?  Suddenly I find myself extremely worried just as to who is writing these things and why I have been singled out.

We finish off covering the office and leave slightly early with the heavens opening hoping that over the night the rain won’t drench our office and give us a nasty surprise in the morning.

On the tube tonight at Great Portland Street a Collina lookalike sits next to me and I half suspect he picks my pocket as he sits close to me and has something of a rummage.  As soon as he moves I immediately check my pocket and my travelcard and bank cards remain in place.  Why am I so untrusting?

When I eventually arrive at Liverpool Street it is to the sight of all the trains home being screwed up yet again.  Soon after I arrive people crush to get on the first train that arrives (the wanker train) but I hold back and eventually get on the 6.08PM Clacton train which thankfully proves sparse in comparison.

Riding home I try to watch the season finale of Californication on my iPhone but annoyingly it keeps ringing, first with The Girl telling me that the lady that plays Blanche Hunt has died.  It doesn’t go down very well when I answer the phone “what do you want?” and she gets in something of a strop at me.  Next Racton calls regarding traveling plans for ATP next weekend.  When my responses on the phone to him are always curt he clocks and says “is this your train voice?” to which I respond “yup” which sees the call ending shortly after.

There is a real stigma about talking on your phone on a commuter train.  These trains exist in silence.  People sit miserable as they either listen to music, read the crap free newspapers or try to sleep.  There really is little in the way of social interaction and any people that do converse during the journey are plainly outsiders and tourists, people revealing themselves as amateurs.  My trains truly feel like something out of a Fellini film sometimes.

In the end it takes over a fucking hour to get back to Colchester by which time it is past 7.20PM.  One day things will move smoothly, I’m positive.

Tonight I head direct to Asda in the hope of finding and buying the Danny Baker football DVD that has just be released.  Unfortunately I experience no joy.

With no food in my flat I decide to do a midweek grocery shop as I stock up on and indulge in comfort food.  As I head through the meat aisle for a second time I bump into Colin and his wife neither of whom I have seen in a very long time.  We chat for a while making stunted nice nice but it says a lot by the manner in which we both make major effort to talk.

Things maintain a shit theme as when I try to pay at the self service till the machine persists in rejecting my debit card seemingly because it just doesn’t like the look of it.  I could swear there are plenty of funds in that sucker and the chip has not rubbed off yet.  In the end I put my pin in three times and half suspect pay for my groceries three times in the process.  Eventually I almost give up and try to pay with cash before I realise that I don’t have enough cash on me.  In the end the YTS girl comes along works the machine for me, it would appear that she has the magic touch.

Eventually I get home just after 8PM where I proceed to eat a disgusting amount of spicy pepperoni in a very large French bread sandwich.  This is then followed by tonight’s Jones of sugar covered cashews that taste so sweet I actually struggle to finish them.  What am I, Morgan Spurlock?  While chowing down I watch two episodes of 30 Rock that guest Ajay Naidu and John Lithgow in great cameos.

Pathetically I head to bed around 9PM to watch the last episode of the Andrew Marr documentaries.  Unfortunately I fail to make it through the whole of the episode as by the end it manages to send me to sleep.  I fail.