Thursday 26 November 2009

Thanksgiving Day.  Whatever that is.

I wake up dizzy laying in the wrong manner and direction on my bed.  By the time I am boarding the 6.59AM train I am still half asleep.

Today the man with the dog is back on the train.  It’s his guidedog.

At Witham a middle aged affluent couple decides to sit next to me.  They both pull out laptops and begin clicking away.  How boring must these people be?  These aren’t talented individuals they are yes men and brownnosers happy to sacrifice their existences with view to garnering favour from their superiors.

Later at Shenfield some guy squeezes between us when there is plainly not enough room for us all.  Motherfucker and my misery is completed.

The train pulls into Liverpool Street at a healthy 7.55AM, this is the way it should be.  As I head towards the tube platform there is a woman handing out Flake Bars to people who are taking The Metro.  I get giddy as I join the swarm on her before we swiftly and collectively dump our copies of the paper, giggling in the process.  At work this chocolate will today be my tease toy.

The tube fucking stinks this morning and the pong is not from the grafters in high vis jackets sat to my right.  No the whiff appears to be coming from the frumpy middle-aged women sat around me.  Their natural funk and cheap perfume coupled with the musty smell of the carriage verges on overwhelming.

I always appear pensive on public transport these days.  I guess it’s my look; my method of hiding and avoiding in with appears to be the rest of humanity.  I don’t want to become another train zombie.

As I step into the restaurant I spot the bouncing chef lying in one of the booths looking like he has been mugged.  Instead it turns out he has just pulled an all-nighter stripping the deli we are disposing off.

I get into work in amazing time with me and the big boss being the only people in.  He at least says “good morning” to me today.  After I go to the toilet when I return to my seat a coffee and bacon sandwich are sitting on my desk.

The working day opens healthily as The Girl brings in croissants and chocolate coins for the office.  More food.

Work wise I tear into further balance sheet stuff and soon find myself on intercompany items.  This feels a rare occurrence to be afforded the opportunity to be taking so much time on these areas of the accounts.  These will probably be the best set of accounts so far.

Surprise beyond surprise Chris Moyles actually says something sensible on the radio today as he points out the less than perfection of Mumford & Sons.  I guess it’s only a matter of time before they become popular and the thought police catch up with him to change his mind to loving the latest shiny thing.

Around mid morning our boss announces that the consultant is coming in this afternoon.  This shakes things up somewhat and niggles me slightly, a little more heads up would have been useful.

For lunch for a third day running I have chargrilled salmon, new potatoes, beans and Hollandaise sauce as it begins to taste of diminishing returns.

In the afternoon on cue The Girl begins playing up and fucking about.  When she goes to grab my pen with view to writing on my arm I stop her by grabbing her wrist at which point she gets all lairy at me accusing me of squeezing/pressing her wrist.  As a result of this she gets in another one of her moods as she reacts as if I had just assaulted her.  Later when The Girl goes to the toilet the lady asks me what it was I did as it would have appeared to her that I had just sat in my seat the whole time.  When I explain it she responds, “I guess you just don’t know your own strength” and we let off semi-pained laughs.

As the room descends into silence I suddenly become cavalier with the intercompany balances with the impending visit from the consultant in mind.

Eventually at 4.50PM the consultant comes in.  The mentality behind this is as ever dubious and disheartening.  Yeah, I wasn’t planning on leaving on time this evening.

My boss and the consultant talk about how the October accounts should be done by now.  I agree and also realise that neither of them realises that I am off work tomorrow and suddenly after weeks of being left alone to do things I am suddenly being leaned on and pressured for accounts here and now.  With this in mind I stay behind late tonight pulling together accounts to show for tomorrow.  In the process I do a last minute review that ends up taking slightly longer than I was expecting it would.

Slowly as the others slope off home eventually it remains just me and the angry boss remaining behind.  In the end I wind up staying later him as I leave the building at around 7.45PM.  Ultimately the accounts I email to everybody are OK, almost there and probably the best set of monthly accounts there have been so far this year.  That said there are still some gaping holes in certain areas of the balance sheet which I am happy to concede leave a little to be desired.  Likewise the head office costs are astronomical but as these are based on actual monetary movements they can’t really be argued.  It hasn’t happened yet but likewise with the head office and balance sheet items I don’t think my boss will be too happy to discover that £80K of his capital has already been nearly fully wiped out already.  There is a definite slush problem.

In the end I don’t mind pulling a late one but tonight I did want to see the first episode of the new series of Gavin And Stacey but unfortunately I work too late to make it back home in time.

Eventually I get home to Colchester just after 9.30PM after a hell journey on a Clacton train home that left at 8.18PM.  On top of everything else this evening this just serves to beat me up further.

Back home I head to bed relatively soon after getting back.