Monday 19 October 2009

Today I wake up at 5.45AM with my telly still on and my head is suffering from a pounding headache. Dark times.

Eventually my alarm buzzes announcing the arrival of 6AM and go time. Against the odds I get moving.

After driving to the station in my usual Monday morning zombie manner my day doesn’t improve any as I miss out on my seat and then the train leaves Colchester eleven minutes late. God hates me.

Later as the train stops at Shenfield a Stephen Gately lookalike boards. Topical.

It is 8.15AM when the train pulls into Liverpool Street. What can you do?

The ride to St Johns Wood is relatively nondescript and nothing to write about.

My day ends up being plagued by my headache and by lunchtime I have only completed the first job on my to do list and by the end of the day I am only just about completing the second item on the list. Fail.

Things are a bit more interesting when the lady tells me how she had a dream where I had driven to work in a Porsche SUV (do they do those now?) and how I got really angry when a cat climbed under it. Apparently this is a bad reflection of me but having a Porsche SUV sounds right up my street, proper Tony Soprano.

Despite it being Monday morning everyone is in a good mood when it feels like it is against the elements. My own mood rockets infinitely when I discover that Will Self and Ralph Steadman are doing a talk together at the Roundhouse next month. When I discover this I almost explode with excitement snapping up a ticket immediately.

For lunch I have penne with chicken in the hope that the carbs cure my headache. Is that sound medical thinking? Ultimately it does not do the job.

At the close of the day our boss lets us out a little early just as The Girl and I get stuck into an argument about the troubles that face black teenagers. The debate comes about when we discuss why I chose not to get involved with Szesze and her black kids. Unfortunately I fear the description of my understanding of the situation that lies ahead for them only serves to make me sound racist when really I am trying to display a blunt understanding of the trials that minority kids face that their white peers and equivalent do not have to deal with. Who cares what she thinks anyway.

Tonight when I board the tube at St Johns Wood there is a KB Kickboxing instructor on the train. Are they still after me? Do I still have outstanding fees? Regardless the woman looks serious with a fierce look of kill in her eye. I never enjoyed her classes anyway, no fun and all steam.

Arriving at Liverpool Street slightly earlier than usual I try to get on the 6PM Sarah train but ultimately it is fucking rammed so instead I opt for the slower 6.02PM Ipswich train that sits almost empty on the other side of the platform. Eventually however it fills and becomes rammed as the 6PM pulls off into the distance with those schmucks giving off a metaphorical wave when leaving. A woman dressed all in plum (dark purple) decides to squeeze into the seat next to me in her purple puffa jacket. She looks like a used bottle of Ribena. As the train nears Witham she prepares to get off and with this she pulls out a pair of purple gloves from out of her purple handbag. This is true OCD and fetishism in action.

When I get back I head straight home and attempt to get some writing done.

In the end I accomplish some work but nothing to write home about before I eventually head straight to bed.