Friday 12 February 2010
Dream: I am at the Playhouse (Colchester’s Wetherspoons) with my friends having a Saturday afternoon drink. Around this time my parents wander into the pub looking lost and slightly out of place having heard that there is some kind of country singer celebrity appearing in the place today. It doesn’t look so. The pair of them decide to sit down and join us at our booth where it is really funny to watch my parents interact with my friends. Despite the generation gap and cultural differences it is hilarious watching them hang out and get along with my friends. Later I find myself heading towards our old house on Chamberlain Avenue. This is a strange place to wind up and be at this time.
Today I find myself dozing lightly until the alarm clock buzzes and ruins my own buzz. The clock eventually goes off, scaring and deafening me in the process.
As I get ready there is a worrying noise coming from the corner of my bathroom ceiling. At first I fear it might be something rodent but the sound is too regular, too routine, repetitive and looped to be nature. All things now point to my flat beginning to fall apart. My response/reaction to this is to stick my head in the sand and get on with preparing for work.
Again at Chelmsford today the large Alastair Campbell lookalike sits near me and now having finished reading his Texas Death Row book it would seem he has now moved onto one about the history of the Cosa Nostra by John Dickie. With no wedding ring on his finger I fear for the home life of this guy. Then again I only recognise the book because I have a copy myself at home.
The faces of the extras on the 6.59AM are becoming more and more recognisable these days. I am now beginning to feel at home catching this train every morning. By the time we all reach Liverpool Street though it is no big thing.
I am beginning to suspect that my little chicken wing indulgence of last night may not have been such a good idea as my top feels tight and uncomfortable today, more so than usual. This feels like it is becoming a larger issue by the day at the moment. I can’t help but feel that by now if I were still having to wear a tucked in shirt everyday I would have long since gone fully insane.
Once I get to St Johns Wood today once more I find myself doing the stepping out thing on a non-indicating vehicle, this morning being a Porsche. This is the riskiest one yet, one day I won’t be so lucky, it will be litigious. The spirit of Lionel Hutz is strong in this one, this mentality.
Today is a big day for the restaurant with a deal going down and all the bosses being suited and booted reading for a heavy meeting with the solicitors. As a result of this there is an early edge to proceedings until they have headed off to their fate.
Soon they are gone and with nobody except The Girl and the Operations Manager on our level we have a lazy day. To be honest I don’t quite know what I should be doing at this time, the consultant is currently sitting on both sets of December accounts with me waiting for the nod to proceed with the January equivalents. I seem to spend me life waiting for that guy.
Mid morning the Filipino comes in with her little girl. It is funny to finally meet somebody that we have been hearing about for over a year now. She is seven and one of those kids that is quiet/shy around strangers it would seem. This always means I go shy and quiet myself in response, being an old child I am still bad around other kids.
As midday comes around we all order some lunch and when it is ready I head downstairs to the restaurant suddenly to be confronted by the sight of our building being raided by immigration. It is not as dramatic as one would imagine it to be but they do still storm in mob handed, all suited and booted. Leading the pack is a woman with a clipboard who asks me if I am the manager which prompts me to snigger in response and the negative as one of the waiters heads upstairs to get the real manager.
For a while I panic about this because the Filipino has brought her little girl in and it will probably look quite scary to a little ‘un, it could traumatise her.
Thankfully it eventually blows over although during the visit I did spot certain people sporting worried expressions about the visit. Later when I head downstairs it is the sound of the Kosovan complaining profusely about having his passport/details checked by an Indian gentleman. Suddenly a question of entitlement is raised in his mind as in his eyes being of Asian decent (not European) makes his entry into the country more of a leap than his own. You can see where he is coming from.
With no bosses in for the majority of the day as the afternoon plays out we find ourselves counting the minutes to 5PM. Needless to say it is not the most productive of days.
Once out of work I fly across town and end up on the 5.50PM Norwich train where I wind up sitting opposite to what appears to be a mother and daughter. They talk through the entire journey and it is tedious stuff. More so than ever I have no idea just what it is that makes people tick and this is why I now eavesdrop so much these days.
Thankfully my iPhone gets me through this journey as I listen to the Guardian Football Weekly Extra podcast as Barry Glendenning dismantles Kasabian discussing their distinct mediocrity while they chase the pound revealing the new end away shirt at the climax of their recent gig in Paris. This is band with a singer that has previously nailed his colours to an Irish flag while their guitarist is distinctly Italian in naffest manner. What a fucking load of shit.
Elsewhere online I discover that Fight Club is actually a remake of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I did not know that.
This evening eHarmony hits me with yet another email asking me if I want to find a partner through their website. Are they taking the piss? Why are they mocking me? They stuff in the cyber knife and now they are twisting it. Just what was it that I did so wrong by contacting them?
I get home with all the best intentions in the world this evening but soon I find myself close to nodding off and quickly I find myself turning in. Friday night TV just ain’t what it used to be.