Monday 8 June 2009

Dream: Szesze gets in touch by email. What about, I forget.

I wake up feeling tired with my television still running from last night. I am literally killing the planet.

Today I am in a good mood even if I feel slightly vulnerable. That said I have refound/rediscovered a laidback sense of humour about the world.

I am wearing short combats today, the closest I ever get to wear shorts, which in itself represents some kind of freedom and perverse confidence. Something must have gone right somewhere sometime recently to be on such a salary while also being able to dress so casual and scruffy. Years ago (1996 onwards) when I was a lowly accounts junior on a seventh of my current salary I could only dream of ever being in such a situation whereby I could wear whatever I wanted to the office. *HIGH FIVE*

When I leave home this morning I am actually leaving early and briefly when I get stuck behind a milk float, instead of getting angry and pissed off I just debate as to how you don’t see these vehicles very much any more and that I am actually viewing something of a dying breed, an endangered species. These are good times; it is nice to be happy for once. Happy can only be healthy.

Today the big news is that the BNP got in somewhere. The town (towns) in which they got a seat in is so irrelevant to me that I can’t even be bothered to found out exactly which one it is/was, just somewhere grotty up north. I think we should begin to worry about the BNP once they begin winning seats in nice places/parts of the country. It is pretty sad and disheartening to suddenly see Nick Griffin appearing prominently on mainstream news coverage when I really don’t think this is warranted, their victories were only token and temporary.

Getting on the train this morning the gorgeous Asian woman is back on board. Is there absolutely anything in the world that I could ever do to get her attention and for her to give me the time of day? Anything?

Shortly after leaving Colchester I watch as some crazy bike rider staggers up and down the carriage of the train which causes/allows me to share a “nutter” gesture with the academic Ric Flair lookalike.

As the train picks people up at Chelmsford the Greek looking woman (probably actually Turkish) sits next to me but unfortunately not on me this time unlike that other time (yum yum).

Eventually the train pulls into Liverpool Street at 8.04 with the weather no longer resembling shorts weather as it hails with rain. At Liverpool Street there is a subtle cloud of smoking hanging over proceedings but no one appears to be acknowledging what quite easily could be a small fire or failed terrorist attempt. Such is now the hardened state of the British commuter.

Today my boss returns and with it is a sense of tension between him and another boss. Keeps life interesting.

The sad reality about today is that it turns out to be something of a wasted day spent pottering and buggering about with some VAT difference query from the auditors. This has been a long time coming.

For a break I email Vice Magazine again to see just where my subscription is. For someone reason though I can’t help but feel my pleas are falling on deaf American Apparel wearing ears.

Out of the blue and in a real surprise Szesze emails today asking me how I am and asking me favours such as whether we have any jobs going at our restaurant in the accounts department. Maybe soon.

An unwise trip to the American’s blog sees an entry and photos of a trip to the weird looking doppelganger’s family caravan. Jesus Christ could it get any pikeier? Also I do wish that in every picture I saw of that guy that he wasn’t wearing a set of those goofy comedy Chinese teeth. Those are racist.

Later while I am on Facebook Glenn hits me on messenger. The same things as ever get said.

For lunch I have grilled salmon with Hollandaise sauce and new potatoes. This is lush.

My afternoon is blighted by the discovery of my old school bully Pullen on Facebook. He ruined my life the cunt and should catch cancer but judging by the profile picture he appears to be flying and making more people’s lives misery. Ultimately I wish that hadn’t happened.

As the remainder of the day plays out my boss is having problems at home and as a result I wind up having drinks with him where we address every subject imaginable and put the world to rights before he heads off home to face the music of having a family.

Myself, I need to get Racton a birthday present for Wednesday. My boss goes at 7.15 but I linger for a short while as I have something I want to discuss with the restaurant manager. Invariably the floor staff begin hitting me with queries about their wages. The barman then begins asking me to report my iPhone broken or missing again so that I can get a new one on my insurance to pass on to him. These fucks just do my head in. I then fuck up as the restaurant manager begins talking to me about his getting a payrise and like a dick I proceed to blow him out of the water making hints and suggestions about my payrise (more than double his was it would appear).

I leave the restaurant around 7.45 and head to the Bond Street HMV. Despite what the restaurant manager had been telling me the shop is still wide open and as I stagger around slightly drunk eventually inspiration hits me as I get the Luke Haines book and first season of 30 Rock on DVD for Racton’s birthday on Wednesday. Drunk in HMV though – not ideal.

When I get to Liverpool Street I miss the 8.30 Norwich train by minutes and wind up getting the 8.38 Harwich International.

Later when I get home this evening I discover the lump on my testicles is getting bigger. The best description I can think up/of is that it is the size of a peanut M&M, which kind of tactlessly trivialises what is becoming a genuine worry for me.

I pass out watching Big Brother and the new housemates acting like headless chickens.