Friday 29 January 2010
This has been a very fast week and now I am very relieved that it is almost over. A new air of tiredness has crept into my routine, which ultimately has resulted in my failure to write anything this week. As ever I find myself horribly trailing in my never-ending attempts and efforts to get my writing real-time.
It is raining once more this morning, which is something I am sure we could all do without. Beyond this however the train journey turns out to be nondescript. I think I pay less attention to my surroundings on the trains these days due to it being winter and dark. Is there anything to be seen here?
At Chelmsford a plate crowder boards serving to make for an uncomfortable journey for the remainder of the way. Why do people insist on squeezing into gaps that plainly are just not wide enough to cater their fat arse and mine? So selfish.
By the time I get to London arrival comes with a sense of relief, happy to be off the train. This elation is only to be met however with the reality of having to get onto a tube. Sometimes I wonder if there is more to my life than public transport. Dare I point out that a quarter of my waking week is spent on trains of one form or another? Begs the question: am I wasting my life?
Once the dust clears and I take my seat at work there is an exciting air to proceedings today as I have made arrangements to meet up with Angela in Holland Park this evening which means all day I will be counting down the hours to home time.
The Girl is not in today which means it is just the Filipino and I. Soon after she arrives I hand her the copy of Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs DVD that she asked me to get last night and there is an air of gratitude to the day.
Today is the day that Tony Blair is in the dock over the Iraq enquiry. It starts early and is streamed via the BBC website. I would really love to be watching this, would love to hear what he says. I’m not as passionate as most left wing types when it comes to this subject but I am fascinated by the machinations of what happened. The whole subject has become so convoluted over the past seven years when in earnest it doesn’t take a genius to realise that it was just a veiled response to 9/11. Despite the protestations outside the enquiry (“Bliar” boards etc) Blair will inevitably maintain his Teflon persona and get through this enquiry because he is smarter than the average bear. It is interesting to see the few moments I do watch though, of Blair visibly on the ropes using excessive hands gestures, hands that I have never realised were so huge before. He probably fears a lynching more than any line of questioning. I can’t work up any hate towards him.
Back performing work I find myself on the new(ish) company again trawling through the bank and getting it all pumped onto Sage.
Quickly lunchtime arrives and with it I head back to the salmon option, an option that is beginning to get a bit old and tired. Gift horse though, gift horse.
My afternoon experiences something of a hiccup when the IT guy phones telling me that my journal adjustments are no good. Without any figures in front of me I cannot comment further, hopefully this is just a case of him misposting rather than my figures being wrong. He asks me if I will have some time to look at them this afternoon and I say “yes” but emphasise that I need to be out by 5PM tonight (I’m heading over to Holland Park this evening).
With me hoping he isn’t going to turn up invariably he does. Luckily it transpires that he has posted last years journal adjustments as opposed to the ones I have given him for this year so the error is on his part. This however comes with lots of indecision on his part to the point that he may call it a day on his company, in which case there is little point in trying to soothe the figures through another year of returns. At this point I really have no fresh suggestions for him and luckily he takes his query to my boss who promptly points him towards the consultant (who to be honest will have the best advice IF he offers it up).
As I count down the hours we fashion escape at 5PM. From here I head down to Bond Street and directly across to Holland Park where I happily arrive early for our 6PM meeting.
Tonight is kind of fun. Its silly and we do things that don’t really turn out as intended but all in all they are entertaining all the same. Eventually we get bored and chill out chatting until it gets late. It stops short of being coat hanger sex.
I think there is perhaps something wrong when halfway during the job you begin talking about personal finances and commenting how frustrating it is to be earning enough to be comfortable from a disposable income perspective but not really earning enough to be doing anything productive with it (such as a better mortgage or investment).
During our chat she tells me that she has recently been seeing a famous person but she refuses to tell me who it is/was. With personal ethics and discretion etc I don’t push her on the point.
Things go slightly pear shaped when she rocks my world by telling me that Tony Hancock. No he was not. From here a slightly tense disagreement occurs with both of us being vehement in our opinions. I know I am right though.
Eventually things end with me sat on the floor cross-legged with a palm full of spunk in my hand. I defy anyone to imagine this as being a pretty sight.
Polo is my life.
I head home around 8PM boarding a long Central Line journey across town soundtracked by the recording of the Pixies show we went to in October. For some reason the recording sounds infinitely better than the actual gig sounded on the night. These things.
There is a slight rush attached to getting home tonight as it is the final of the last ever Celebrity Big Brother. Once on the train heading back to my beloved Essex I discover via Twitter that both Stephanie Beacham and Basshunter have become the first people to go. Then before I even get home I discover that Vinnie Jones has been evicted also leaving it to Alex Reid v Dane Bowers in the final. It is the Katie Price wet dream final for Channel Four. Perhaps it might not be a bad thing to end this show after all.
During the journey home I receive a text message from an old school chum who has read the book I sent him in two days. Now if only everyone was as enthusiastic to read it as much as that. His message reads: “All done. Top stuff. You need to do a follow up, even in pdf I wanna know what happened next. Breathtakingly honest thanks again for sending. D b.” Quite frankly this is probably the best text message that I am going to receive all year.
Once back in Colchester I find myself feeling famished so with a healthy February in mind I head to North Station Road where I get a sacred Doner kebab and chips to accompany the Celebrity Big Brother when I get home.
I get home in time to catch the second half of the show and the eviction of Vinnie Jones. Quite frankly it is a farce that he is coming third to the two confused idiots left remaining in the house. As ever he remains stoic, charming and modest with nothing to prove because he already knows he is awesome and perhaps the only person in the house with an actual career and set of bollocks. I hated him as a footballer but think he is great as an individual.
Eventually the victor turns out to be the second rate Adrian Street impostor and as he does his winning exit interview he continuously refers to himself in the third person not displaying an once of charm or intellect and very little in the way of gratitude. Basically he sounds a complete prat. At the end of the day it is his ego that has prevailed and the rest of the package is just a sad reflection on modern society and the stupidity of the modern masses with regards to who their heroes are in this day and age. Really how on earth has he endeared himself to people, he is as vacuous as her and where his brain should be appears to be a burger of confidence. I can’t help but think that this final of CBB was the biggest fix since Shilpa Shetty.