Thursday 14 January
2010
Dream: it is commuter related
seeing me in conversation with the Nine
Finger Keeper in a more positive manner than I would dare imagine.
These days were sent
to test me.
Once moving all things
point towards being an OK morning as things now resume back to normality as if Christmas
never happened. There is a strong
desire to maintain my new found energy for the year but as things return to
routine I fear there is not much chance of that energy remaining.
Today the train plays
a little trick on us as it stops short at the platform meaning that a large set
of us far end (of the platform) dwellers have to go running back towards the
train scrabbling for seats on the carriages.
This is a shorter train than usual.
To start the New Year I now have a new
favourite podcast: The Bugle. It is put out by The Times and is a weekly
satire show hosted by Andy Zaltzman
and John Oliver. The fucking thing is just about to reach its
100th episode, why have I never ever heard of it before? I only discovered it by accident by doing a
podcast search for Zaltzman after his Alternative Ashes show last
summer was genuinely entertaining stuff.
This podcast however is on another level and is the first such show to
actually make me laugh out loud on the train in a very long time. The two of them go so well together, with Oliver
(the Brit from The Daily Show)
phoning in his bit from New York this is
truly enlightening stuff. I’m already
fucking smarter for having listened to a couple of episodes of it.
My journey finds
itself somewhat disrupted when at Witham a larger
blonde lady decides to sit in the seats opposite. She is the most attractive person I have seen on the train for a
long time and while I muse over this fact it is with pleasant shock and fear
that when we near London she
looks over and fires me a smile. Was
this intended or just some strange instinctive reaction? Invariably like a rabbit caught in the
headlights my own reaction is only to blush.
How old am I? What is the deal
with a 33 year old man being
made to blush at the mere hint of attraction?
Me got issues, me got worry.
Regardless because of
this I begin the day with a swing, with the kind of lift I have not necessarily
felt in a long time. I guess this is
the feeling of my heart fluttering.
Loser.
The working day turns
out to be a tough one as the consultant comes in just after 9AM, actually
beating a number of our full time members into the office. I will mention no names. From here he proceeds to ask questions that
feel irrelevant and inconsequential.
Accountants truly are the most indecisive of people.
All in all it
ultimately equates to a frustrating day where often I don’t know if I am coming
or going. Communication between this
guy and myself is really bad. Sometimes
it is obvious that we are pulling in different directions and still the
preparation of our monthly figures involve too much rushing and last minute
requirements during the first two weeks of a working month when often we will
find ourselves twiddling our fingers in the second half of the month.
With little else to
report from the working day soon 5.30PM comes around and we head off in our
different directions. As I change lines
at Baker
Street I spot Parrot Face from Baker Street
which as ever serves as a bad omen.
The omen is later
realised when once on the 6.20PM Norwich train
home it dies ten minutes into the journey as it stops at Wanstead. It is another ten minutes before Information
Jimmy bothers to make an announcement at which point he informs us that
“there is a fault with the train and that a fitter is coming to look at
it.” Quite frankly with this
information we are blinded by science.
Against expectations
ultimately this in the end only adds 20 minutes to our journey home, although
it is 20 minutes that we will never see again.
Slowly by stealing such minutes from my life National Express are
minutely murdering me by using some kind of drip method.
When I eventually get
back to Colchester
once more I pop around the olds’ where I find myself again submerged in soap
opera hell with Eastenders and
the reading of Archie’s
will that subsequently climaxes on a real cliff-hanger.
Not long after this I
endeavour to get ready and packed for Manchester
this weekend but in the end I more likely full asleep watching Celebrity Big Brother. If I am being honest, I do not remember.
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