Wednesday 3 February 2010
Can’t complain this morning.
When I get to my car it is again frozen more than I would have expected it to be. What is going on with the weather at the moment? At what point did it turn into winter again? How come we are getting the frost but not the snow?
As the train finally turns up this morning it is one of those weird yellow-rimmed ones with rubbish tables that I am barely able to squeeze/slip into. The streaks pretty much resemble streaks of piss and whenever we get stuck with one of these trains in a morning it is often a depressing time.
Today I find myself sat opposite a man drinking from a flask. Who the fuck still uses a flask in this day and age? Evidently this guy. He is reading The Guardian, which in many ways is kind of stereotypical. The flask is perched precariously and as the train judders slightly it takes a turn and it looks as if it might eventually fall and spew out over the table and probably one of our crotches. No doubt it will be mine. Fortunately the guy sat next to him points out this threat and Mr Guardian complies, making a feeble token effort to move his container even though with the next train bump it goes back to looking precarious. I know I disliked this guy for a reason as he keeps moving his foot and accidentally kicking it into mine. Once would be a mistake but to repeatedly do it can only serve to cause offence. When he does it one time too many my instinct is suddenly to kick him back ferociously. This is actually somewhat something of a faux pas on my part and certainly not a focused reaction; it just comes from my gnarly snapping instinct. If the guy had pulled me up on it I would have understood.
I can’t get comfortable on this train. This discomfort is evidentially visible on my face as nobody appears to want to sit in the seat next to me this morning. Perhaps they are just freaked out by the weird doors making our four seats a compartment.
It is with embarrassment that there is a large degree of struggle to get out of my seat as we arrive into Liverpool Street. The guy who had earlier proved sensible if not successful in his warning of the flask not unfortunately experiences my crashing my legs into his knees in an action that is utterly hypocritical on my part after all the fuss I had made over the guy opposite me accidentally kicking my shoes. Cack.
When the train eventually pulls into Liverpool Street as I put my £4600 travelcard through the barrier it fails with the response “seek assistance”. For an organisation that charges £4600 for an annual train ticket you would think that NXEA would be able to put together some kind of ticket that lasts the entire year without stopping working. Pathetic.
On the tube platform again I spot Bellalike this morning while later on the actual train some bovine old woman repeatedly coughs on me. Finally when I change lines at Baker Street unfortunately I spot the Baker Street Midget for the first time this year which can only be a bad sign and omen for the day ahead.
For some reason today I suddenly feel deflated upon arriving at Baker Street. The sensation is one of an inexplicable lack of hope that hits me in a way I have not experienced in a while. I don’t know why I feel this way, certainly there is no one event or moment that triggers it, just suddenly all begins to feel pointless and hopeless. Maybe this is a tube thing and on the surface the day will right itself.
Unfortunately upon arriving into the office the deflation continues as when I switch on the radio I find myself greeted/met by the voice of Peter Andre. Truly what fucking planet is this person on? Just how hard did he suck Satan’s pecker in order to rejuvenate his dead horse career? Does this mean that Jordan is actually Satan sent to earth to destroy brain cells and eventually bring down society? Is her fame a plot devised by George W. Bush or Osama Bin Laden themselves to bring down the United Kingdom? I’m sure there is a way I can fashion her tits into being responsible for the credit crunch.
So back to Peter Andre, just what is it that he is pushing these days? What exactly is he famous for? Music or fucking a brain dead woman? Who knows but stop the presses it turns out that just as he is whoring himself in the media, his ex is now also doing her own job having just gone to Las Vegas and married Adrian Street. Quite frankly I am shocked they didn’t do it in Dubai, the new Las Vegas. Oh no, I forgot, they’re not Muslims are they. Or are they?????
Finally the nail in the coffin of the day is hit as the bad omens for the day get fully realised as the consultant states in his email that he will be in today. This now puts me further under the cosh. Darkness.
Today turns out to be a bad one. At a time when I really need to concentrate and pull my finger out I instead find myself being bombarded with stupid queries and distractions from the other people in the office. Eventually I wind up shouting at The Girl when she asks me one question too many about Avatar after I have told her that I think one of our party is going to drop out for next week’s IMAX visit.
From here we fester and develop an awkward silence that attaches itself to our room like a dark cloud. That said it is not necessarily all bad as it lends me the opportunity to now tear into my work without distraction. Once the ball gets rolling I begin to royally make progress on an arduous task even though I feel the desire to apologise profusely. I don’t want to be unapproachable or stand offish but I do really need space to concentrate at this time.
Lunch arrives and today I go for the basic penne with chicken. I need to pay attention to the carbs right now but today I don’t feel afforded the ability to be choosy.
Around 4PM the consultant comes in and suddenly all signs begin to point to a late one this evening. Almost immediately within minutes of arrival he has a pop at me. As ever he zeros in on the soft/weak areas of the accounts so when quizzed and questioned on the sections knowing that they are weak I flap on my answers with a guilty conscience. The sad truth is that I am in the process of “getting there” on these areas, I am just not afforded enough time to finish the job. Such is my eternal plight.
In the end I wind up staying until 7PM – first in and last out, this isn’t a habit I should necessarily be getting into. As he leaves the consultant asks me how long my journey home is, almost sound sympathetic.
On the tube ride to Liverpool Street a Chinese fella pulls out a Rubik’s Cube and everyone sat on the carriage looks wowed, aghast. Personally I check my watch just to make sure I have not travelled back in time to the eighties. Amusingly he is not one of these cube geniuses and doesn’t immediately solve it.
Typically as I board the 7.30PM Norwich train I find myself having to stand. It is probably as a result of karma after I hit a woman on the head with my elbow stomping along the carriages of the train. I got her good.
When the train eventually stops at Chelmsford the train clears and during the exodus a girl with stunning eyes gives me a couple of glances. I wonder just what it is that she is seeing, I certainly know what I am seeing.
Once back in Colchester I feel hungry and find myself toying with the idea of hitting Asda for comfort food. I behave though and just head home instead.
Getting home I find myself met with a sachet of wasabi sauce next to some spilled takeaway food on our stairs. Then as I head up the steps I discover a discarded yoghurt lid on our landing with that little glob left on the corner. This truly sickens me, greens me out and almost makes me feel sick. Just what kind of a fucking pig is the girl that now lives next to me? Truly things have never been this bad before but now with this one it is just one thing after another.
When I finally step through my door and into mental refuge and safety I scour my flat for things that make me feel happy but unfortunately there is nothing.
On TV it is halftime between Leeds and Spurs in their FA Cup replay and the score already is 1-1. Instead of this though I actually choose to watch The Daily Show in hope of it being a John Oliver episode, which unfortunately it isn’t so invariably I find myself heading to bed and back to the Leeds v Spurs game.
Around 9.30PM as I am looking at photos on Facebook of my friends’ pretty girlfriends there is a knock at my door. Figuring it can only be trouble (next door asking to borrow something etc) I freeze and do not bother to answer. Then there is another knock, a more forceful one but tonight after a hectic day and the rubbish being left on the landing I just don’t want anything to do with anyone. Soon they get the message and go away.
In the end Spurs beat Leeds 3-1 with Jermain Defoe completing his hat trick, scoring his third on a break at the end. He really can be impressive at times.
Not long after this I pass out.