Monday 8 March 2010
Dream: I get shunned. Later in the dream it ends with me hanging out with my friend Ross on his birthday and just as I leave to head home he says “so you don’t have a present or card for me then.” Whoops.
Today is the lightest/brightest morning of the year yet. Value ape.
A boob occurs when I check my phone to discover a text message saying that my parking for the train station has expired. Ouch, this technology is too much to deal with at 6.30AM on a Monday morning.
Eventually I get rolling, all to the sound of Chris Moyles on Radio One complaining about the winners at the Oscars. He moans that the winning movies are ones that nobody has heard of because they have not been released in this country yet, particularly questioning The Hurt Locker. Not wishing to sound too pedantic (but I will) the movie was released over here months ago and just because he is too thick to even know of its existence doesn’t necessarily mean it never existed until now. I don’t think this person should be on air commenting about anything.
Despite the sun being out in force it is still a freezing morning, which isn’t assisted when a piss streaked train comes along. As I take my seat squeezing beneath the annoying mini table that is useful for nothing I am not overly enthused by my ride. This morning is not going to be a comfortable journey.
Its quite disheartening to find myself sat on the train opposite a lookalike of the consultant this morning. This is one reminder more than I need of him. This comes coupled with my exclusion from the 100 Days project article in The Independent yesterday that is still niggling. I am almost ashamed to admit just how it has knocked the wind out of my sails.
Once into London when I board the tube this morning there appears to be a guy eating a Big Mac at a very early hour. It stinks out the entire carriage and smells like the greatest thing ever invented in a kitchen (or a barn).
Later when I change lines at Baker Street after a wait on the Jubilee Line platform Information Jimmy announces that there has been a fire at Green Park and that this line ain’t going anywhere, suggesting that we take an alternative route instead. From here I head to the Metropolitan Line platform with view to going to Finchley Road station and walking down from there. When however I arrive at platform 4 it would appear that the next train is not for another ten minutes. God hates me.
In the end like a fool and a chump I wait patiently for this train which I ride to Finchley Road before getting off and walking down to the restaurant from here. There are worse things in life.
Ultimately I get to work only ten minutes late with the other two already having arrived. It is very rare for me to step into the office after these two.
Today is the Filipino’s birthday. She is 41 but looks fifteen years younger than this. She is blessed with a look of youth. I think smiling and laughing as much as she does helps with this. By way of celebration she has brought in a big box of Krispy Kreme donuts (doughnuts?) – this is total win! Maybe this Monday ain’t so bad after all.
After the rush and hassle of last week, today is quite tranquil in comparison. When I check my mail there is nothing from the consultant, which I am happy about but its not going to get us anywhere. Who cares though when there are Krispy Kremes.
It’s a happy day and we put a lot of effort into birthday cheer. These are always difficult times, difficult to gauge and always needing of support. To add to our meagre efforts the bosses come up with a bottle of champagne and from the other side of the world a bouquet of flowers are ordered and delivered as part of the process.
With various high end doughnuts inside us its comes with no surprise that by the time lunch arrives we are fucking stuffed and not necessarily gagging for lunch.
The afternoon plays out thankfully devoid of drama and soon it is 5.30PM with me having accomplished the bare minimum required to get me through the day (the intercompany reconciliation).
Being Monday it is The Bugle day so upon exiting the restaurant and walking towards St Johns Wood station I find myself with a spring in my step listening to my new favourite podcast. It’s the small things.
Tonight I have a lot to do when I get home. Unfortunately this gets somewhat hampered as the 6.20PM Norwich hiccups on the way home. These trains are never reliable when you need them to be.
When we finally reach Colchester (almost home) I spot Disney Face exiting the train also looking as miserable as ever.
The drive home from the station turns out to be one of insanity tonight when a jumped up sports car attempts to cut me and refuses to take my “no” for an answer. The driver must have a truly miniscule dick as briefly things turn Mad Max on a lo-fi scale as we literally race side by side as he (or she) remains insistent at cutting in front of me. As my fear of hitting the car in front of me overcomes me with common sense I yield (chicken out) leaving the sports car to cut in and fuck me. Promptly I pound on my horn as my heart paces with genuine passion in rare fashion. With me still tapping my horn the car weasels off along the bypass in a different direction to myself. Yeah all that horn action will show him. For a strong moment I consider following/chasing him but fortunately I am in a good mood and eventually common sense prevails again. I complain now but secretly I loved it. Still people that drive do deserve to die in a horrible car accident of twisted metal and tangled bodies. Life just isn’t karmic that way though and the innocents are always the ones that suffer (innocents like me this evening). Have I laboured this event enough yet?
In truth the miniscule drama only occurred because the other vehicle was a sports car. Firstly such an automobile just screams arsehole to me and usually I will endeavour to cut it up before it cuts me up. It all shrieks a display of wealth, of worrying social conditioning and an odd kind of snobbery brought on my personal insecurity and an imbalance of wealth to humility. It is an automobile that appears to give/lend the owner a sense of a god given right to shirk highway rules. At the end of the day such a car is just a status symbol I will never lower myself to have. So more or less our little temper tantrum this evening was actually a gesture of class war. Nobody died.
When I get home I find myself half giggling, half fucked off. Quite frankly it is a very good job that I am in a good mood tonight. Luckily I don’t feel like a schmuck, which is the usual risk with these things.
From here I proceed to finish off my final 100 Days Project entries while Jon Stewart plays out in the background. When the Newswipe repeat comes on at 11.20PM I find I am still writing well into the night, albeit with one eye closed.
Eventually I put up two 100 Days entries (Day 97 and Day 98) while I have the Buy The Ticket documentary playing out in the background with view to hopefully inspiring me. I achieve limited returns.
By the time I find myself attempting sleep it is past 1AM which I just know is going to hurt come the morning.