Tuesday, 2 February 2010

Tuesday 2 February 2010 – GROUNDHOG DAY

I want to have more to say for my morning but really I am just fucking tired.

Against what the weather people said today there is no snow, instead it is just drizzle and rain.  At the station I jump aboard the 6.48AM train saving me from an eleven-minute wait in the rain for my normal train.  By Kelvedon I find myself being reminded as to why this is the crowded train I ordinarily like to avoid.  Hats off though as the train gets into Liverpool Street at 7.48AM healthily on time.  As I pass through the barriers on my way to the tube a tall Asian guy with a walking stick and hobble seemingly suffering from gigantism catches my eye.  Initially I think it is the boyfriend of my American Friend.  A little later as I wait for the tube to arrive in what looks like a scene from a horror movie he comes bounding around the corner seemingly towards me like a wounded monster.  Again I hide my eyes and hope he does not stand behind me.  It would only end up in offence and giggles.

It is still relatively early as I change lines at Baker Street and the difference in calm is noticeable as the platform appears more quiet than usual.  Changing lines however is made that bit more painful as the escalator is out mean we have to walk down it instead of lounging.  Now don’t get me wrong this is no real problem or hardy effort but it does always freak me out to walk/step along a stand still escalator.  Even though the steps aren’t moving to me they still look like they are and my brain insists on treating these claw stairs as if it is business as usual.  The real freak out occurs at the end when I have to interrogate stepping off the escalator.  Weirdness ensues as I almost stop before making the large off.  My head.

Finally my walk to work drama is completed as on Loudoun Road I do my thing of stepping out on a car because it is not indicating.  One day this little protest will backfire on me.  As the guy passes he slows down and gives me an angry expression.  I respond by doing a little indicator gesture with my fingers mouthing the words “you’re not indicating.”  Yeah, that’s empowering of me.

One year ago today was Snow Day, a wonderful Monday when the snow meant that nobody go anywhere.  It was also the first day for the Filipino and bless her heart she managed to make it into work on a day when neither The Girl nor I bothered.  In our defence our boss did call us up and tell us not to bother.  Oh what I would do for another Snow Day right now, that day genuinely felt like freedom last year.  Things feel very different now twelve months later.

Right now I feel truly lethargic and I can’t help but fear that this is down to the additional weight that I am carrying around at the moment.

I arrive early again and to an email from the consultant saying that he will be in at 11AM.  This at least lends me some time and breathing space to finish stuff off and get prepared for his visit and subsequent grilling.

Today is Groundhog Day and news soon filters through from Pennsylvania that Phil is predicting six more weeks of winter, which looking out of the window looks very likely at this time.  See you next year.

Bored and without the Balkerne Heights website thing being any closer to resumption or conclusion to amuse myself I redirect the www.balkerneheights.co.uk URL to a Youtube video of a gorilla in a zoo eating its own shit.  I guess that works as some kind of metaphor.  I had originally thought about doing a link to an old Beadle’s About clip which would have been the ultimate metaphor as the mark (my day) loses his rag while Beadle (Terry Sutton and PMS, Barry Hepburn, et al) giggle in the background at the prank (the manner of management).  Alas I find no such clip.

Elsewhere on the radio the charity version of “Everybody Hurts” gets its first play.  This piece of shit is worse than I was imagining it would be, even worse than the charity version of “Perfect Day” (at least that recording had some talent on it).  I really cannot reconcile a song about loneliness and depression to a natural disaster in the Caribbean.  Have these poor people not been put through enough already?  Considering the number of Simon Cowell acts (of no talent) appearing on the karaoke backing track there is naturally a high level of cynicism attached to the whole thing.

Also today I discover that the pilot of an American version of The Young Ones was made.  Has anyone ever seen it?  Yes, I mean the 80s sitcom.

Beyond this the day sails out devoid drama.  The consultant comes in but thankfully gets caught/tied up with other issues and dealings to the extent that he doesn’t really bother me.

Tonight I wind up on the same tube home as Bellalike.  Also I find myself sat opposite a rubbish half Ruud Gullit half Jose Luis Chilavert lookalike.  And he knows it.

Public transport is basically fucked this evening.  After extensive tube delays and I wind up on the 6.30PM Norwich train instead of the 6.20PM and then after a few hiccups (and a ticket inspector heavily interrogating my £4600 travelcard) the train eventually beaches and dies at Witham.  With this me and the other extras wait with baited breath for an explanation but tonight there is no word from Information Jimmy.

By the time I get back to Colchester it is unnecessarily late all equating to the kind of evening where I truly hate and resent public transport and having to commute to work.  Why do I have to do this?  And why despite all my hard work and effort I still do not feel as if I have progressed past “Go” on the Monopoly board of life.

Back home on ITV4 tonight is the Crystal Palace FA Cup replay with Wolves from Selhurst Park.  I have never really paid much attention or mind to their ground before but tonight, dare I say, it looks pleasingly old school.

Just as I begin watching the game Danny Butterfield (some no name in the Beagles line-up) promptly scores a seven-minute hat-trick.  Suddenly a dull arse match turns into something of a thriller.  For ten minutes.

From here I continue to write with the game playing out in the background before it ends and is followed by Escape From New York which I watch the beginning of before getting weirded out.  Indeed 1997 was a tough year.

Newswipe is on BBC4 again tonight and once it nails its subject with startling and awing accuracy.  This show appears to get smarter with every week and tonight as it picks at the subject of the cult of celebrity and rightly questions how now the stars are feebly making blind efforts to inform the world.  Kill ‘em all I say.

From here I pass out.

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