Tuesday 23 June 2009

Dream: very annoyingly my dream today features my long departed American friend. She’s dead to me.

I’m running on empty at the moment. When I awaken around 4.20 is it yet again with the TV still on and rather than turn it off I just switch it on mute.

Beyond this I barely recover any sleep and eventually I find myself fully awake ahead of my alarm clock sounding off.

On GMTV this morning in amongst all the idiot speak and idiot fools, Clare the weathergirl appears to be putting in a real effort. Perhaps she is feeling the heat now being the more senior weathergirl and in a gesture to put the other weathergirl into the dark this morning she is wearing a very nice dress which does not quite accommodate her belly. As a result of this imperfection and frailty it makes her look even more attractive, even more human, even more tangible. I have actually read that she suffers from some kind of disease that makes her look bloated and it isn’t called “pies”. Regardless it all gives me a smile this morning. Whoever does the weather, Clare will always be queen.

When I get into my car this morning unfortunately the fucker still stinks. I really do not know how to sort this out or what to do. Rapidly this is scarily turning into that Seinfeld episode and unfortunately with £3800 still to pay on the car loan it would appear that I am laboured with a troublesome odour for the foreseeable future, which is much to me detriment. Why did my fucking old man have to leave that bag of rubbish in my car? His transition into Willy Loman is beginning to cause me genuine headaches again.

The train ride this morning is so so, I act blinkered so as not to cause suspicion that I am anything but.

To my left is that guy with his laptop and appeared to take much joy in nudging me all the way to London the other morning. A few times I look over at what he is watching on it and it looks like the most vanilla, bland video a person could ever put on a computer. Funny really, the guy looks more like a person to have kiddie porn on his computer.

During the ride I listen to the latest Collings And Herrin podcast (#68) and do not laugh once. Which I think is a reflection on me but equally could be those guys.

Eventually the train rolls into Liverpool Street at 8.05. Late. As I leave the train the ponce haired fucker that always sits stoic and is very rude when made to move cuts in front of me as we leave the train. I take great pleasure in kicking him in the heels and letting him know that he has wasn’t supposed to get off the train in front of me. I hope my gesture sets him up for the worst day of his life.

As I board the tube at Liverpool Street so does a throwback from 7/7. In the interests of national security I should take him out, him and his big beard and dress. That look will fool no one at the gay discos. However he soon gets off at Farringdon and thus we both have escape.

Feeling wild thoughts right now, boredom and fatigue is a wicked combination as contempt festers and actions become insinuated. I have no balancing/levelling influence in my life to tell me to just “shut the fuck up”, which pretty much abstains me from any responsibility for my actions I think.

On tube I watch as some guy combs out his afro and I just want to grab the comb and ram/stick it in his neck. Then I notice he looks like Michael from The Wire. Abort! Abort!

My day improves infinitely as it turns out that I have won tickets to the Answer Me This 100th episode at the Roundhouse. Yes! I really wanted a ticket to this, it sounds like some of the best possible times.

At work The Girl trots in at 9.09, which I guess is an improvement – in her world and mind.

Thankfully today I have the best, most productive morning that I have had for months. I guess with the pressure off it is now easier to focus and get on with things. My adjustments to the figures/accounts however knock the bottom line significantly.

For lunch I boringly go with penne and chicken. Lots of carbs, lots of poultry.

I try to log on to my Pilkipedia account again today and once more it continues to immediately boot me out – has my American friend had me barred? Paranoid but I believe it could be the sort of thing she has engineered before for a pat on the head. Committed Christians hey, what you gonna do?

Just after lunch word comes through that Thierry Henry is in the restaurant. Apparently he used to be a regular when he played for Arsenal until one day when the kids from the school opposite got wind of him eating in the restaurant and started attacking the cars in the car park. This definitely kicks up a buzz in the restaurant and soon I am finding a reason to pop down into the restaurant and check him out. He looks a pretty cool customer.

In the afternoon I finally find the first time/opportunity to do some work on the new company, the accounts that we have outsourced due to what was a ridiculous deadline of two weeks from the bank about three/four months ago. The accounts are still nowhere near ready to being complete. In a two week period we could never have got the accounts done but given a month we would have got it done. This was evident and obvious at the time and now look where we are as a result. However finally being able to pick up and look at the figures is a real step forward and display of progress.

Towards the end of the day the posh boss comes in asking me to bid on his eBay auction. If I am not careful I could soon become the owner of a twin kids buggy.

Conversation wanders onto my holiday next week and more suggestions of travel as I pine for Berlin, not least the idea of visiting locations from Wings Of Desire.

Again later as I wander to Facebook I stagger across Sara’s profile and how mature and grownup it all seems, especially compared to me. Then again as with all my “mature” friends’ profiles it looks kind of boring and stunted also. This is I guess how I justify myself.

After work when I hit Baker Street and the Metropolitan line platform I clock the manager from Baker Street that used to get stoned and go fishing at the weekends. Unkindly some people at the office referred to him as “Rat Boy.” To be honest I don’t want to speak to him so I avoid him concentrating heavily on reading my London Paper and London Lite while also really intensely working on my iPhone. In my defence I do barely remember his name and probably struggles to recall mine.

The train ride home to Colchester tonight is thankfully relatively comfortable as I listen to a Tank Riot episode of HR Pufnstuf. I like stuff.

During the ride I come to the conclusion that the method I am using to write “books” is akin to a band jamming out a song from a riff and how the method is to trim the fat until the piece is crisp and efficient. I am still yet to decide whether this is a good method or not.

Once back in Colchester the walk back to my car is soundtracked by Funkadelic who I am loving right now. I’m listening to it so much that it is beginning to sound like Can to me.

When I get back to Balkerne Heights things are no happier. Mum tells me that dad is still depressed and complains how the other Balkerne Heights residents/friends have used him just because he was a director on the company and this is an idea that she is fiercely transplanting in his mind. She begins ranting at me how people aren’t worth a shit and that is why she “has no friends because they can’t be trusted.” It is pretty obvious from which parent I get my antisocial traits from. I attempt to tone her down by saying you can’t rely on people, not trusting anyone is a bit of a harsh stance. She then proceeds to launch into some kind of rant whereby she now wants to move away from Balkerne Heights because the management company (run by Terry Sutton) has allowed the place to go to ruin. The rant is super depressing and it is no wonder that dad is down if she is harping on like this for the whole of the day in his ear. She complains about the service charges and how they are the crux. I think also the fact that universally property values have dipped doesn’t help much either. I can’t help but agree with her on this though I too would feel aggrieved if Terry Sutton had come into my apartment complex and substantially/significantly increased my annual charges without justification or improved performance in standards but there are definitely better ways of dealing with these things than just fucking moaning and being miserable about them.

As a result I don’t stick around for long and soon I am heading home. As I get into my car the smell is still depressingly pungent and I now want rid of this car in the worst way.

When I step into our apartment complex I notice the neighbour the nurse’s door is open even though her car isn’t in its space. Should I pop my head in and see if she is all right? Nah.

Back home I see on my emails that I have won my boss’s eBay auction for a twins buggy. Whoops, what am I going to do with that? I need a girlfriend.

I attempt some writing but after an initial burst/flurry I am just too exhausted to produce anything of major worth.

Heading to bed I check my Facebook and some photos from bowling last Tuesday have emerged. As I indulge in flicking though pictures I am tagged in/on I come the one with me and my American friend in Brick Lane last summer in which she genuinely looks gorgeous. I slump.

This evening turns out to be the most beautiful of the year so far. Come 10PM the skies are still clear and bright and the temperature nears perfection as my window sits open allowing in the most efficient and non intrusive of breezes. It is at this point my tail pops out.

The day ends with watching the second home episode of The Thick Of It before I eventually fall asleep during another dull episode of Big Brother.