Tuesday 26 May 2009

This morning I wake up still feeling blue from the Brazilian’s comments. He has certainly touched (ruptured) a nerve.

As I leave the house it is raining so with it on comes the green American Apparel hoodie that has definitely seen better days. Soon I find myself looking down at it and notice that it is filthy. Goes with my trousers I guess.

Upon arriving at the station the platform is rammed for some reason. Where did all these commuter tourists come from? Having to do and put up with this shit every day of my life I feel entitled to some kind of preference when it comes to boarding and leaving the train and choosing a good seat. Public transport really brings out the bitter little Nazi in me.

On the platform Baggy Eyed Woman tries to bump me out of the way as ever and she succeeds as ever. Despite this I do manage to get a decent seat and as a woman sits opposites us she wearily makes the angry comment “having to fight for seats at Colchester…” Collectively we ignore her.

At Kelvedon some greying fat arse bastard decides to squeeze between me and the academic Ric Flair lookalike. He officially ruins the day.

Despite the train being fucked and even stopping at Ingatestone this morning we get into Liverpool Street at 8.07 that is crap but not quite as crap as expected.

Upon arrival it becomes apparent that my train ticket is working on the overground barriers but not the underground barriers. Did the guy at the station give me the wrong replacement ticket on purpose? Does he know something I don’t know?

This revelation is subsequently followed by a rubbish tube journey to Baker Street spent sat opposite a Parminder Nagra lookalike with rubbish hair and a nasty and hateful demeanour. When the tube eventually reaches Baker Street I find myself physically manhandling an Asian guy who/that is stupidly stood in the aisle, in the way. There are words post grope but my iPod drowns them out.

The tube ride from Baker Street to St Johns Wood experiences a nasty hold up at 8.40 as it is reported over the PA that somebody has jumped under a train at Finchley Road. Immediately upon hearing this announcement I take a seat because they things are never resumed quickly as medics and the authorities have to deal with body parts and red tape. Perhaps this is karma beating me on the head and just as I was shoving the guy out of the way on the tube minutes earlier some kind of out of body shoving motion was also knocking the poor person at Finchley Road under a train. No doubt it was a guy dropping to his death, it is always males that commit suicide in this, probably doing so off the back of some pain caused/induced by emotional mistreatment from a lady. Maybe.

It has been quite a while since I have been stuck on a non-moving train in a tunnel for such an extended time. I hold back the panic.

As the delay in the tunnel begins to reach 30 minutes I begin to look around at who I might need to shag to continue the human race if we remain on this train forever and who looks the best person sacrificed for the first meal. Ultimately when I see who probably has the best meat to be eaten Alive style the bad news is that I am looking at my reflection in the window opposite me. Own goal!

Fortunately as the wait feels as it is beginning to last forever I am being kept sane by listening to an MP3 on my iPod of Nardwuar The Human Serviette interviewing David Cross. This is funny shit; the archive on Nardwuar’s website is astounding, really extensive. I wonder if his interviews were ever intended to be listened to by people (practically) living underground on a train?

Then the announcement comes over the PA that the train may need to “detrack” and we might have to walk out into/onto the tunnel. My initial reaction to this suggestion is “what about the killer spiderwebs and rats?” An additional terror gets added to my day. Thanks Information Jimmy.

Finally some of our worst fears are confirmed as word is announced that there is going to be a “detrainment.” Is that even a real word? Regardless slowly we all step towards the end of the train and out through the drivers cab out into the darkness of the Jubilee Line tunnel.

By now the emergency services have arrived to assist and in groups of ten people the police lead us up the tracks 150 metres to St Johns Wood station. The tunnel is surprisingly well lit as one both sides are lines of lights making it possible to look down and see where your/my footing is at. This is quite different to the climax of 28 Weeks Later where you would be given to believe that a tube tunnel is the darkest place on (under) earth that is also inhabited by zombified versions of your relatives. Also it is a bit of a relief when there are no rats to be seen.

Walking along the tracks actually proves quite difficult work. There is no real routine to the way they are set out and to be honest they weren’t designed with the idea of people walking along them in mind. I find myself following an elderly lady and this is convenient as I am able to use this fact as blame for why I am walking along the tracks so slowly but truly it is difficult to do and there is no way you can take your eyes away from lies beneath you. In the process I just feel myself ruining my newish DC trainers more and more as the dust around is extensive.

Eventually there is a literal light at the end of the tunnel. Is this what it is like to die? Am I actually on my way to heaven right now instead of work?

Reaching the station rarely have I ever been so happy as to see a fully lit area. Also when I emerge from the station and out into the surface of London the air has never felt fresher. It hadn’t occurred to me at the time underground that there was anything wrong with what I was breathing but in comparison outside feels super fresh. Very rarely will you ever come across a person to describe the London air as fresh.

By now the time is just after 9.30 and the first thing I do is text my boss to tell him that I’m almost at work. When I eventually bowl into work at 9.45 it is with stories of the wonder of the underground. I do not feel I do the adventure justice in my description although everything in the office finds it kind of funny. Such things could only happen to me it seems.

It takes me a while to get into the day as I begin to milk my experience in the hope of people making me drinks and giving me sympathy. This doesn’t last long however as I begin to get leaned on for April accounts.

Once the ball gets rolling on the day however it is a very busy one in which I find myself being productive in setting up schedules for the beginning of the new financial year etc. This task/chore should really be a no-brainer but at these times nothing is easy at this place.

For lunch today I was going to be good, to turn over a new leaf and have soup but the option/flavour is leak and potato – two ingredients that are never going to make a decent dish out of anything. There is no effort or love in the hearts of our kitchen when this was being put together it seems.

At the moment I find myself having lots of dirty thoughts about Beth Ditto and when her new song comes on the radio I am finding myself more and more looking her/it up on the internet.

At the close of shop I finish the day not having yet completed the accounts but still I feel I have accomplished a lot in the process.

As I get the tube back over to Liverpool Street no one thankfully throws themselves under the train on this side of the journey. At Baker Street station however I do see an old Baker Street work colleague and part of me dies in the process, it is too fucking depressing to be reminded of that place and time. I’m not sure if she blanks or just doesn’t see me, although she was one of the nicer people that worked at the firm and probably didn’t clock me (I would like to think).

Later on the tube journey at Kings Cross I see a lookalike of my American friend. Damn I am haunted and obsessed by that. When we both get off at Liverpool Street it really does look like her in a really unflattering way.

Tonight on the train home I sit opposite a guy on a laptop with the biggest most bulging bug eyes almost popping out of his head that I have ever seen. Everything it seems shocks or surprises him. I begin to wonder what is he looking at on the other side of that laptop? Away from the eyes he also looks like Joshua Jackson from Dawson’s Creek.

Back in Colchester I change my train ticket yet again this evening pointing out that it only works at overground barriers and not underground ones. I still wonder if those guys gave me a faulty travelcard on purpose. Is there somebody that reads this drivel?

As I walk home and up the hill near Balkerne Heights in the distance I see dad walking Bobby across the bridge next to the Hole In The Wall. It appears as if Bobby actually sees me as he holds dad up slightly. The old man however he doesn’t see me, he's off in a world of his own and his eyesight isn’t so hot either. As I close in on them and catch them up once more Bobby is first to see me and he refuses to move as dad attempts to take him off in another direction towards another pub.

Stopping by at my parents I find myself suckered into their soap world vortex. Sadly however the dog chooses not to howl along to the theme of Coronation Street, which is apparently his current party trick.

During the advert breaks I tell them both about my adventures on the tube today but I fail to wow them also, damn I just cannot sell myself in any walk of life.

My parents have been on Facebook and they have seen my photo from ATP with Lydia Lunch on there as my profile photo and now mum thinks that Lydia Lunch is my girlfriend. I guess I do have a video in my flat that could qualify her as relationship material. Mum however has absolutely no idea who Lydia Lunch but she loves it/her. She keeps asking “who is that girl?” The answer is a lady almost your age, at least not young/old enough to be your daughter. That said if only she was my other half, what hilarious consequences that would give birth to.

Avoiding all soaps on their computer I begin watching my download of the Amy Poehler Saturday Night Live special and the sketch with Paul Giamatti where she plays a hyperactive girl buying an instrument is one of the funniest sketches I have ever seen on the show. It is probably pretty much too late in the day to point just how talented this lady is.

I head home at 9PM leaving Balkerne Heights behind. When I step through my door at Bohemian Grove there is still no copy of Vice Magazine from my subscription. Darkness.

Home I actually manage to get some writing done, ploughing on until well up to 11PM with the last episode of 606 this season playing in the background. Tonight Danny Baker does not mention Millwall once; I guess it would only serve to fuel ridicule.

Once I finally head to bed I fall asleep watching Art School Confidential.