Wednesday 24 February 2010
Today I feel improved for having had my day off yesterday, well prepared to approach humpday with the right spirit.
When I check my iPhone there is a message from Germaine asking me where my latest Facebook Cull posts are. I know, I know, I’m slacking. It’s pretty weird to be doing this now knowing that so many are actually reading the entries. It is also doubly difficult now that I have come to end of the no-brainers, the deadwood and for a few entries now I will be having to delete real people from my life, people who may actually be reading. I do feel the entries are changing now, they are no longer venomous in any capacity and instead me just reeling off various anecdotes about these people. Whether this is a good thing or not is open to debate but I do feel it is different to the original intentions of the project, one that feels like a reaction that is now knowing of its audience. Is this some kind of gesture of selling out, of compromising? Have I diluted the quality of the project? Are people now as bored of it as I am now that it seems (in my opinion) to have lost its edge? Well, I guess this text message would suggest otherwise.
It is almost light as I leave Bohemian Grove this morning. Daylight, we’re almost there!
I enter the train station today just as the Kym Marsh lookalike does likewise. In the cold light of day she is beginning to look less and less like her apparent doppelganger, less appealing with her fruit. Did I really just think that?
This morning I sit opposite an older woman that spends the entire duration of the journey typing into her laptop. She does so with the most crazed and screwed up facial expression, seemingly pleased with what she is producing. She looks insane. And too old to be operating a laptop. Should I call the police?
Eventually we get to London and as I step onto the tube at Liverpool Street I spot Bellalike before winding up sat next to an Asian due who one stop later pulls out his copy of The Koran and begins mouthing words. He has a big bag with him and immediately alarm bells begin to ring in my tainted mind. Here’s a deal I would like to suggest. I don’t carry a Bible around with me and read it on public transport so please don’t you carry your little book of fairytales around either. When the brown bible basher gets off he doesn’t thank me for moving out of his way so I make sure to clip his heels on the way.
Elsewhere on the tube I notice a guy with a ponytail apparently taking offence at the wheel motion noise coming from another guy’s Blackberry. The reaction this guy is having to the Blackberry is similar to the reaction I am having to his stupid fucking hair. At what point does this look still seem like a good idea to anybody?
Am I the only remaining grounded person on these trains?
After changing lines at Baker Street, on the Jubilee Line appears to be a one armed man. This Twin Peaks shit freaks me out.
At this point I look up and suddenly the consultant Mr Stewart is there stood in front of me on the carriage. I swear he wasn’t there when I boarded. This guy is like fucking Nosferatu crossed with Nick Hewer from The Apprentice all wrapped up in one lanky ball of incompetence. I really didn’t want this today.
When the train pulls into St Johns Wood with reluctance I acknowledge him and say “good morning”. Then with further reluctance I walk with him to the restaurant, taking the wrong route and attempting conversation that never gets further than stunted. When he spends the majority of the walk on the phone I am relatively relieved and happy.
Annoyingly I did have (personal) stuff planned to do before starting work this morning but due to the consultant’s early visit it all means that I am under the cosh from the word go today.
Things go badly from the off when I ask him about the control account adjustments I was waiting on for all of last week. He responds “didn’t I send you the journals? In the end it wasn’t that bad after all.” So what was the little paddy about the other week then? With one foul comment all his gestures and actions get contradicted in confusing fashion.
Thankfully by lunchtime he is gone at which point the covering chef is offering us all swordfish for lunch. In the end it is a great dish, well received especially in these times of the boredom that is the staff menu the Heavy Metal Manager dumped on us a few months ago.
From here the afternoon sails out pretty comfortably as I attempt to get my head around a series of strange adjustments that the consultant has suggested. These are management adjustments, the kind that occur in order to soothe the shape of group’s accounts. These are not adjustments I would ever dare suggesting. He must know something I don’t know. Regardless racing against the clock I get them done and dusted by home time.
Tonight after a delay on the tube I eventually wind up on the 6.30PM Norwich train where I experience the joy of having the most ragged looking woman living sitting opposite me. I just hope I don’t catch her disease.
When I finally get back to Colchester I head straight home to where Chelsea are playing at Jose Mourinho’s house in Milan. As I switch the TV on Chelsea are already losing 1-0 to Inter. I can’t help but take glee whenever they choke in such circumstances. The unfortunate introduction to Danny Devito in 2005 has forever tainted me against Chelsea when surely all their fans can’t be dicks like this guy.
Bored with the game I flip the TV over to The Daily Show where Jon Stewart is interviewing Jeff Garlin who as ever proves thoroughly entertaining. Tonight he is plugging his book and Stewart keeps commenting on his weight loss. I hadn’t noticed.
After this I return to the Inter v Chelsea game where they have snagged an equalizer. As the remainder of the game plays out Inter recapture the lead as Cech hobbles off in the process and the final score turns out to be 2-1 to Inter much to the chagrin of England’s apparent finest.
From here I head to bed.