Tuesday 9 June 2009

Rainy morning.

I don’t feel good today.

Despite this on the train I find myself wearing short trousers undaunted by the elements.

I feel enormous.

Also I can’t believe how tired I am on the train this morning.

At Chelmsford the Japanese girl with the big mole and amazing long hair makes a rare appearance on the train. After the first I noticed about her was her beauty, soon the second thing I noticed was the ring on the finger. She never smiles. Or at least not at me. I can only imagine what she does in London. She is probably an accountant. I swear most of the people on these trains are accountants. Or glorified accountants posing as bankers or investors. This is the fake train.

The train bowls into Liverpool Street at 8.08 after being beached outside the station for an extended time/period. Maybe the delay was because of the rain. Also maybe my impotence is caused by overuse.

I hate to admit it but commuting and public transport has caused me to no longer care in certain areas of behaviour and discourse and this includes picking my nose in public. To be honest though I genuinely do not know where the social stigma of this gesture originates from, really it’s not THAT uncouth. Is it?

Today I am into work first with alarm duties. I wish the restaurant could always be this peaceful. I never feel afraid being the only person in this building, there are no ghosts here.

A optimistic sign for the day ahead comes when on the radio (Chris Moyles) plays “From Out Of Nowhere” by Faith No More ahead of their reformation shows. The song sounds so out of place on daytime mainstream radio and when afterwards almost the entirety of Moyles’ team complains about having never heard that song a sad moment occurs. Knock another nail in the coffin of the tastebuds of my generation. Time to maybe grow old and quiet/silent methinks.

For the Nth running I check my email and sadly there is no word from Vice Magazine regarding my missing subscription. Surely a mean spirited publication such as that would not take the money and run, surely that is not the attitude those guys are about.

The working day unfortunately soon beaches as I get stuck on a bothersome VAT query with the auditor regarding a difference before my time that I had no influence on and minimal involvement on in the aftermath. As we clutch at straws I seem to get involved far too much as we fudge out some kind of solution which would far from keep me satisfied were I there auditor. Such are the powers of persuasion of my elders.

I spend the majority of the exercise struggling to concentrate on the task as my lump continues to cause me great concern as it increases in size.

When I come away from the meeting we have chipped away at the difference and got it down to a £3K difference. As I walk into our office I announce “that’s a morning of my life I’ll never see again.”

For lunch I have penne and Merguez followed by an additional sausage that The Girl leaves behind. As I hook on my fork, dunk it in some sausage and take a bite she comments “that’s typical of how a bloke eats a sausage.” That fact this causes annoyance makes it taste even nicer.

The afternoon continues at another stop start pace meaning it all equates to the sum total another unproductive day which is frustrating but at least isn’t chalked up as slacking by the powers that be (just my conscience).

Annoyingly due to the train strike Racton calls off his planned/scheduled birthday celebrations/drinks and moves them to Crystal Palace. Fucksticks, his birthday bashes over the past few years have been really good times.

Looking at the news it looks like the tube strike is set to ruin the remainder of the week for everybody in the capital – the buses will be at Hillsborough capacity. Perhaps a skeleton service will be put on to get us innocents through, perhaps not. Fingers crossed on the scabs.

As I catch my tube back to Liverpool Street the tube workers already look on strike as they stand around counting down the minutes until they can shut up shop. I have never ever seen so many members of staff at St Johns Wood station ever before.

The train ride back to Colchester this evening is frustrating as it would appear to be that National Express are acting in solidarity to the RMT as tonight’s 6.20 train to Norwich is predictably and depressingly delayed.

When I finally get back to Colchester and the walk from the station to Balkerne Heights I listen to my iPhone on random and the new Doom album “Born Like This” pops up with the track “Cellz” which opens with a Bukowski sample to die for. This record suddenly rocks.

The remainder of my walk back is spent listening to the Chunklet recording of the first The Jesus Lizard set from ATP. This sounds so amazing; Chunklet’s delivery of this MP3 is over and above.

After seeing the parents and the dog I head home and eventually pass out watching Big Brother which is still a lukewarm affair waiting to get going.