Monday 11 January 2010
Dream: it is set on the Central Line. This is really not the best of locations to be having a dream about.
It is very cold this morning but curiously there is no frost on my car windscreen so as a result my drive to the station turns out to be a breeze without any elements stunting.
As I drive into the station car park I look across at the platform and I can see from my car that it is packed, rammed and full suggesting to me that the trains are running late and that I have a wait ahead. This does not look good.
By the time I get to the platform thankfully it has cleared but still the 6.59AM arrives slightly late, delayed enough to cause me to freeze on the spot.
This morning during the journey I listen to the latest episode of Answer Me This podcast (episode #121) and they actually answer my question as to the origins of the term “Rubber Johnny.” Good times.
Inevitably the train eventually pulls into Liverpool Street late, apparently having been held up behind a delayed train ahead. This is not an excuse. Frustratingly the hold up feels extra excruciating today so it comes as a genuine relief when the ride is over as we pull into Liverpool Street and I am able to escape the train.
Today I sleepwalk across the station to the tube platform where I eventually find myself sat opposite a scary looking guy with an insane head spasm. He terrifies me. He would probably terrify me without the twitch due to his hood, sharp features and expression. With each uncontained nod it is as if he is calling me out on something. I find I have to look away from him because it begins to amuse me to the degree of verging on a giggle.
Later at Great Portland Street some drippy guy enquires whether the train is going to Baker Street and blessed with an affirmative he runs onto the carriage only to slip in spectacular fashion. Potentially he could have crippled himself but strangely and worryingly my first thought is not “is he OK?” but instead “what an arrogant twat, he deserved that.” What is it with me and my demeanour? A few minutes later when I change lines at Baker Street and get to the Jubilee Line platform there is a seven minute wait for the next train. I can’t help but think/fear that this is karma in full flow.
I have a bad back today; it is making me feel old.
Eventually I get into work slightly later than usual, not enough to be noticed. Invariably today is a typical Monday, one in which I am very slow moving. Gradually I begin getting into work but sadly this only comes two hours after I arrived.
By lunchtime I find myself feeling unnaturally hungry so I plump for penne with chicken undaunted by the number of carbs and calories that are attached to such a dish.
In the afternoon I get into reviewing the new company’s head office costs with my boss. Quite frankly it is littered with mistakes, stupid little mistakes that I wasn’t notified about in the first place. In my opinion as a result these accounts really don’t cut and ultimately it is morally deflating to encounter so many errors.
Thankfully 5.30PM soon comes around and we get to go home. Tonight I have to do my weekly grocery shopping due to being “snowed in” at the weekend. Once back in Colchester the drive into Asda is annoying as the roads appear OK but people still appear happy to take dangerous risks. Tables turn however as while parking up I get frowned upon as the space I begin reversing into suddenly has a shopping trolley with a baby sat in it. Where the fuck did that come from? Two angry mothers (the mum and the gran) look at me fuming as I am trying to kill the kid on purpose, within seconds I appear to have three generations of one family annoyed with me. I can’t win.
From here I stagger around Asda having forgotten just what I want or need. Later as I look into my basket I see just green tea, cheap fizzy caffeine drinks and milk. Luckily I find an 8p French stick for dinner before I buy a bottle of Jagermeister. Am I drunk?
I get home and try to push myself to writing. I manage to do a few bits before creating a crap homemade Jagerbomb using the worst of ingredients. It actually doesn’t taste half bad but it lacks the kick of the real juice.
In the end I scrape out a few words before watching the remainder of my Doctor Detroit DVD that I have on loan from Lovefilm. It’s a great film but nothing happens. I love this era of movies, eighties comedies that starred SNL types that only ever seemed to appear on video and never in cinemas. Better times.