Wednesday 2 December
2009
Why do people tell you
they are going to do something and then just not bother?
I’m OK this morning,
still coughing, still spluttering and now also sneezing.
As I leave the flat I put my hand in my coat’s left
pocket the bottle of cough syrup that mum gave me last night appears to have
leaked into the pocket creating a sticky mess within. A few years ago I would not have allowed this to happen.
I get to the station
early so that I can pop into WH Smith and get some cough sweets: Lockets, Tunes, Strepsils, anything.
By the time the day
gets to London I feel as if I am
bordering on delirium. As I look around
so many people look like people from my past, people I probably have contention
with and definitely do not want to see (in any capacity, real or
lookalike). My flu hallucinations
perhaps go too far when I think I see The Predator on the
tube carrying a spirit
level. Should I even be leaving the
house at this time in this state?
As I change lines at Baker Street
some extra
clumsily near stabs me with his umbrella.
These salarymen really do not know how to handle their umbrellas. As I casually poke it away he turns to see
what I am doing to him.
Eventually I step into
an empty restaurant and pour myself a much needed/desired glass of orange juice;
these are the benefits in a place with a bar.
My cold is finally crucifying.
On the radio again
this morning is Vernon
Kay. This is a person that possesses
the talent and personality of a sock puppet without a hand inside it.
I hobble through the
morning struggling with even the most simple journal adjustments.
For lunch I hit the
penne with chicken in the hope that it will be spicy and clear some sinuses.
All day Facebook keeps
telling me to get back in touch with Zoë at Baker Street. I don’t think Facebook quite understands the
situation that occurred between us.
Eventually I make
headway in the afternoon and the consultant finally gets in touch requesting
some schedules. His request is a bit
annoying but it does point to some progression finally.
Towards the end of the
day while I am sorting this request out the heavens open and slowly a few drips
begin coming through the ceiling of our office. Not long afterwards the drips become heavier and suddenly it
looks like our roof is leaking again. Nonplussed
I continue with my schedules for the consultant while the others run around
looking to put bins beneath the leaks and cover up anything electric.
As this occurs I find
myself also distracted as Nina’s Facebook statuses suddenly go bonkers as her
account has plainly been hacked.
Ordinarily I wouldn’t give a fuck but then I read the status: “i am a little anal slut that loves the
cock and i hate all my friends and i have shagged all there boyfriends but
jason is a fuckin dick so dnt even talk to me agen bell end xx.” What the fuck did I do? Suddenly I find myself extremely worried
just as to who is writing these things and why I have been singled out.
We finish off covering the office and leave
slightly early with the heavens opening hoping that over the night the rain
won’t drench our office and give us a nasty surprise in the morning.
On the tube tonight at Great
Portland Street a Collina
lookalike sits next to me and I half suspect he picks my pocket as he sits
close to me and has something of a rummage.
As soon as he moves I immediately check my pocket and my travelcard
and bank cards remain in place. Why am
I so untrusting?
When I eventually arrive at Liverpool
Street it is to the sight of all the trains home being screwed up yet
again. Soon after I arrive people crush
to get on the first train that arrives (the wanker
train) but I hold back and eventually get on the 6.08PM Clacton train
which thankfully proves sparse in comparison.
Riding home I try to watch the season
finale of Californication
on my iPhone
but annoyingly it keeps ringing, first with The Girl telling me that the lady that
plays Blanche Hunt has
died. It doesn’t go down very well when
I answer the phone “what do you want?” and she gets in something of a strop at
me. Next Racton calls regarding
traveling plans for ATP
next weekend. When my responses on the
phone to him are always curt he clocks and says “is this your train voice?” to
which I respond “yup” which sees the call ending shortly after.
There is a real stigma about talking on
your phone on a commuter train. These
trains exist in silence. People sit
miserable as they either listen to music, read the crap free newspapers or try
to sleep. There really is little in the
way of social interaction and any people that do converse during the journey
are plainly outsiders and tourists, people revealing themselves as
amateurs. My trains truly feel like
something out of a Fellini
film sometimes.
In the end it takes over a fucking hour to
get back to Colchester
by which time it is past 7.20PM. One
day things will move smoothly, I’m positive.
Tonight I head direct to Asda in the hope of
finding and buying the Danny
Baker football DVD that has just be released. Unfortunately I experience no joy.
With no food in my flat I decide to do a
midweek grocery shop as I stock up on and indulge in comfort food. As I head through the meat aisle for a
second time I bump into Colin and his wife neither of whom I have seen in a
very long time. We chat for a while
making stunted nice
nice but it says a lot by the manner in which we both make major effort to
talk.
Things maintain a shit theme as when I try
to pay at the self service till the machine persists in rejecting my debit card
seemingly because it just doesn’t like the look of it. I could swear there are plenty of funds in
that sucker and the chip has not rubbed off yet. In the end I put my pin in three times and half suspect pay for
my groceries three times in the process.
Eventually I almost give up and try to pay with cash before I realise
that I don’t have enough cash on me. In
the end the YTS girl comes along works the machine for me, it would appear that
she has the magic touch.
Eventually I get home just after 8PM where
I proceed to eat a disgusting amount of spicy pepperoni in a very large French
bread sandwich. This is then followed
by tonight’s Jones of sugar covered cashews that taste so sweet I actually
struggle to finish them. What am I, Morgan Spurlock? While chowing down I watch two episodes of 30 Rock that guest Ajay Naidu and John Lithgow in great
cameos.
Pathetically I head to bed around 9PM to
watch the last episode of the Andrew
Marr documentaries. Unfortunately I
fail to make it through the whole of the episode as by the end it manages to
send me to sleep. I fail.
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