Wednesday, 17 March 2010

Wednesday 17 March 2010 – ST PATRICK’S DAY

Wednesday 17 March 2010 – ST PATRICK’S DAY

Today has potential.

As I head out all looks good.  Wearing a coat is beginning to feel more and more unnecessary by the day now as the elements improve and the sun begins to reintroduce itself to proceedings.

It is a pleasantly surprising breezy journey to town, albeit with the train beaching three times along the way creating five minutes of lateness for when we eventually pull into Liverpool Street.  Today though for once I feel not fussed by this.  Likewise though as I travel across town on the tube there is equal delay, which this time is somewhat frustrating as for the duration of the ride a portly older man decides to squeeze into the seat next to me, a seat barely designed for two small people let alone to girth burgers.  After my initial chagrin ultimately I am not a hater and soon I slip into this role (this role of being his rub buddy).

When the tube finally reaches Baker Street I spot/notice the young Geena Davis lookalike on the train.  For the entire journey she had been hiding in the corner.  She always gives me evil looks as I swipe gawps at her.  One day I will give up on this shit.  As usual today when we exchange glances hers is of scowls and mine of fear.

Eventually I emerge at St Johns Wood and hoof myself towards work.  On the way I find myself getting wrapped up in the Ndubz School bundle so for fear of comments I just increase the volume on my iPhone and pretend that they are not there.  It works.  Ignorance is bliss.

As I step into the restaurant I see my reflection in the front door and today my head appears to resemble that of a Lego figure.  Has my skull always been so square in shape?  Usually I thought it was round.  Its not good.

Once into work the boss seems strangely very happy to see me this morning having been in the office since 7AM, I suspect on his own.  It unnerves me to have a boss that actually appears to like me, that doesn’t continuously criticise me and tell me my work is bad.  It freaks me out to be on such a personable level with a figure of authority.  Certainly I am not complaining it is just that it is still such a foreign/alien concept to me and one that still takes some getting used and adjusted to (especially following Butt Road and Baker Street).

The Girl returns to work today and with it her cheeks looking like a lo-fi version of the Lady In The Radiator from Eraserhead.  I guess her reason for absence the last two days was genuine after all.  She expresses great concern over how she looks but even though its noticeable its not freakish or protruding.  Now convincing her of this is another thing, her being female and all.  I have to concede though it is really nice to have her back.

Soon the boss heads off to Sussex where he has to deal with his mother leaving us (me) to deal with the apparently impending consultant.  Can we exchange roles maybe?

Halfway through the morning I get into some weird shouty argument with The Girl about Katie Price and Jade Goody.  She seems to like worshipping them for being good mothers.  Personally I feel bad for the better mothers who are in the position of having to provide for their kids while not having a pot to piss in.  I nail my argument by bemoaning the fact that these celebrities possess privileged positions off the back of doing nothing of merit, harbouring no real talent other than being able to whore themselves to the public.  I sound truly harsh with my arguments.

Soon lunch comes around and feeling hungry I don’t care so I order Penne Arrabbiata with chicken and promptly douse it in tomato sauce (ketchup) to give it an additional kick.  Sure the point of having such a dish is that it comes with a killer sauce to give the flavour a kick and individuality.

From here the afternoon plays out with no real drama.  Finally I find myself pulling my finger out and making progress on the January accounts of the new company.

In the afternoon introducing my work colleagues to Chatroulette is perhaps not the best move of my career.  They both look on as the inevitable visage arrives at which point they both scream (particularly the Filipino).  Curiously though this does not see The Girl exiting the website.

Late on our boss returns at a time when we were not expecting to see him back at all.  He lets us out at 5.20PM because he wants drinks.  I can’t say “no”.

We do business drunk until 6PM at which point I get to escape and go home.  As I walk up Loudoun Road towards the tube station I spot Harry Enfield stood outside his kid’s school with all the other parents waiting to pick it up.

Eventually I wind up on a 6.38PM train to Clacton and unsurprisingly it is packed.  Just as I begrudgingly take a standing position in quick succession two goofs with bikes board the train and suddenly take up all the space.  Belligerently I do not budge for them and even begin cursing these cunts for their arrogance.  How cheap must these fucks be not to shout for a Travelcard to get them around London?  Add on top of this that if our train crashes they will get in the way of our emergency escape and we will perish, at the end of the day it just makes no sense!

Thankfully one of the bike boys gets off at Shenfield and finally when the Chelmsford exodus occurs I manage to snag a seat next to a couple of skanks (mother and daughter) with too much makeup on.

Tonight I can’t be too angry though as I listen to catch up episodes of The Bugle with both feature The American twice in a row.  This guy is my new hero, he has a passion that is blind but authorative, one that makes you listen to and take on board his opinions allowing them to change your own into his way of thinking.  He is never right in anything he says but he sounds right and that at the end of the day is the main thing and how the world works ultimately.  The American, I salute you.  I would say “if only there were more like you” but my belief, understanding and experience is that they are all like him.

When I get home happily I find a second win and manage to tear into some writing.  Perhaps its thanks to the Coke and Jack Daniels buzz from Business Drunk.  Additionally I watch two episodes of Wilfred, both of which rock.

With the night getting late I head to bed to watch the recent Zach Galifianakis episode of SNL.  Annoyingly I fall asleep during his monologue.  I suck.

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