Tuesday 22 September 2009

Life is a full time job.

Now fully back into the routine I awaken on the dot feeling fine as if my week off and freedom were now a distant memory.

It is a good sign as the walk to the station from the car park is a relative breeze, there are no ill affects. Seriously my week off and not having to awaken at 6AM every morning has genuinely had a wonder affect on me. I swear if I were able to wake up at 7AM everyday instead of 6AM things would be better.

As I walk to the station an Asian (Oriental) jogger bounds past me and as we look at each other we smile in acknowledgment of the early hour and new morning. This is a step in the right direction.

Today I manage to get my seat on the train and once again all is well with the world. The usual extras are on the train as the continuity of my life remains, predictable and comfortable.

Again today Son Of Computer Fag is on the train. I watch as he sleeps almost the entire duration of the journey. He sure likes to take up space on the train.

At Witham the girl with dyed red hair, Empowered Red, sits next to me sporting her permanent expression of being in a strop.

Eventually the train pulls into the station at 8.04AM. This is predictable and reliable also. My life is so calculable these days.

On the tube again this morning is the guy with his sandals/flip flops and once more I get to view his ridiculously large toes and hairshirt atop of them. He fucking repulses me.

Otherwise I get into work relatively comfortably without any other drama.

I find myself in the mood to buy new shoes today so I hit Amazon and when I discover a decent looking pair of DC skate shoes with the name Mike Shinoda attached I snap them up without really knowing who this guy is, thinking his is some kind of skater. It is not until I have order the shoes that I discover just who Mike Shinoda is – he’s the dude from Linkin Park. So here comes a pair of nu metal shoes to me.

Today is the six monthly managers and chefs meeting held around the large roundtable in the room beneath us. As a result of the meeting there is some kind of atmosphere attached to proceedings as everyone involved dresses up in anticipation of what lies ahead. Usually at some point during it there are more than a couple of raised voices.

In my mind I imagine it to be a lame version of some meeting of the families, like a gay version of The Sopranos or The Godfather.

The meeting begins with laughing, then shouting, then more laughing and eventually applause. What the fuck kind of rollercoaster of emotions is occurring down there? Apparently accounts used to be more involved in the meetings, back in the days of my predecessor. Then again my predecessor liked to stick his nose more into such machinations of the organisations rather than concentrate on the actual production of the accounts. I think during that period also the restaurant managers would get regular sets of accounts in order to evaluate their performance which is something that has gone out of the window since my predecessor left and the consultant got involved. I still expect at any time to suddenly be harassed for figures for such a purpose but this is yet to happen/occur. It would be tough to deliver the information but not impossible provided certain other people (i.e. the consultant) didn’t drag their heels and actually did their part.

For lunch I have grilled salmon and new potatoes with hollandaise sauce. This is a great dish.

The afternoon turns out to be once more soul destroying as there is a real pressure to get the new company’s accounts done but I have less than zero interest or enthusiasm for reviewing and correcting the outsource guy’s work. Scanning over his garbage has now probably taken up more time than it would have done had I started the accounts from fresh and done them myself. Then again this was always a given.

As a result off the back of this it does not go down well when my boss guilt trips me into working late this evening. Despite the reality that at the moment my time is more valuable than my disposable income these days I agree to stay back with a huge dose of resentment. Fortunately though he gets the hint and tells me not to worry/bother. Honestly I am really a team player and open/ready to muck in but I just do not feel responsible for this shambles of a situation.

When we leave at 5.30PM the IT Guy comes in. Apparently he’s been told not to work in our office because he is disruptive. To be honest I don’t care either way but the truth and reality is that the biggest disrupting element is that we are the first point of contact for the phones and currently are being subjected to a daily torrent of abuse from angry suppliers chasing bills. We are accountants not secretaries or receptionists. Two jobs two cheques – that is how it should be.

At St Johns Wood it looks as if when they put the London Paper distributor to sleep on Friday they did the same to the London Lite one too. Now I get no free newspapers for my journey home.

The tube tonight smells of cheese. I really hope this does not rub off on me. As I look over to my left I see a Hoxton threesome with big glasses and I just know it is them that is responsible for the cheese. Those fucking phonies.

Tonight I am listening to “Fun House” yet again and this is a rare example of an album that gets better with each listen.

Once on the 6.20PM I notice that the clock on my iPhone has changed again. So it won’t sync with the songs on my iTunes but it’ll tap into the bogus time of our IT network. Pathetic.

On the ride home I sit opposite a Peter Jones lookalike. He looks distraught, acting and looking like a man torn apart by the credit crunch. This is not helped but the carriage tonight being the hottest one in history.

Back home in Colchester I pop into the olds’ and after ten minutes of saying “hi” to Bobby and watching TV I hear retching and it is the old man throwing up in his bedroom. Fuck, I didn’t even realise he was in, I thought he was out. I hate seeing the old man like this it always terrifies me as it suggests something awful might be up.

Soon after I head home where I actually accomplish a good dose of writing. I have momentum at this time.

Around 10PM I begin putting stuff up online while Jools Holland is on in the background. Once again The Editors get away with fucking murder with regards to their crimes to music (and sick unoriginality). Elsewhere Charlie Watts just comes over as senile in conversation. The stars of the show however are Gang Of Four who storm the show in a most wowing fashion.

For a second night running I find myself watching Newsnight with tonight Jeremy Paxman handing Tony Blair his arse while discussing the subject of climate control. Later there is a lot of coverage given to the levelling in France of that camp called “The Jungle.” It has been noticeable today how no one has commented about this on Facebook or Twitter. My lefty buddies sure know how and where to pick their fights.

My night ends with sitting down to watch Curb although I struggle to keep awake for the entire episode.