Tuesday 29 September 2009

I wake up and it is still dark. Outside it looks cold but thankfully when I emerge from my flat its actually pretty mild.

The skies are amazing this morning, a piercing pink red of glorious dawn. This is easily the best time/part of the year.

When the train arrives this morning it is not our usual model, more the kind of thing you catch at Stratford that stops at places like Romford. The interior is a sick colour running with a yellow motif. How did this happen? For some reason this makes it all feel cramped and very eighties.

At Witham Sitcom Woman sits next to me and immediately I get a full on whiff of her pongy breath. Darkness.

Wishing I had an invisible gasmask the train eventually pulls into Liverpool Street at 8.05AM. Shall I complain about it being late?

In the office today it is a slow one. It would appear that the consultant has finally signed off on the August accounts, which is something of a delayed and overdue reaction. I guess we must owe him money.

For lunch I have penne with chicken. The chunks are luscious and the carbs are high but it all tastes good and filling. What will happen when I stop working in a restaurant and cease getting free food? Will I waste away?

In the afternoon I find myself looking at photo albums on Facebook and I come away scratching my head wondering why everyone (my peers) looks so old and grown up. In comparison I feel I just look a mess but their pictures appear devoid of true excitement, of a life being lived, like they are doing impressions of their parents in order to legitimise their existences. Perhaps things at this end aren’t so bad after all.

Tonight I am the last one leaving. Why does this not surprise me.

As I change lines at Baker Street I see the Baker Street Midget charging and striding like a stormtrooper in the Hitler Youth. As ever seeing him serves as a bad omen for what my lie ahead.

On the tube some Asian dude is snoring and snorting like a pig. I feel we should rob him of his belongings just to teach him a tough lesson.

True to form the Baker Street Midget curses my journey home as we end up sitting outside Kings Cross for an extended period that feels like the longest spell.

With only minutes to spare I eventually do manage to get the 6.20PM train to Norwich, snagging a seat next to a fat American. They’re always Americans. After he gets finished speaking to his buddy (sat opposite) the guy, who blatantly works in computers, proceeds to sleep and snort his way through the journey home. What is it with the nasal passages of this world we live in?

Sat opposite in my aisle view tonight is Disney Face looking as grumpy as ever but still very attractive for it. I wonder if she ever notices me noticing her.

Back in Colchester there is a buzz in the air and a large police presence around the station. I soon realise that this is because Colchester are playing Charlton tonight, not that I saw any of their supporters on the train.

As ever I stop by the olds’ at Balkerne Heights where the dog greets me having had his hair clipped. As ever he looks skinny and stupid but smells nice so perhaps this is why he also appears to be slightly depressed.

On TV Liverpool are playing in Fiorentina and soon they are losing 2-0. Wankers.

When I eventually get home I endeavour to do some writing but ultimately I am just too spent to do any. I do manage to finish a chapter of Gestures but after all the groundwork and hard stuff that was done last week this is a no-brainer.

Tonight according to the news I should be interested/concerned with Gordon Brown being in Brighton but he lost it all a long time ago.

At 10PM Charlie Brooker has a videogames programme called Gameswipe on BBC4. The programme is literally dizzying and it gives me a headache. When did I turn into Abe Simpson?

I fall asleep.