Monday 22 March 2010

Monday 22 March 2010

This morning offers up mixed messages.  I awake feeling fine, into a bright almost sunny day.  When I flip on my TV however ITV isn’t working (so no GMTV for me then).  Later as I leave my flat I notice that the stinking fucking cunt next door has once again left her bin bag out on the landing overnight and with this the hall now smells.  The bike has now returned to the entrance also.  Conversely though as I arrive at the station I manage to snag a decent parking spot once again.  Definitely a contradictory start to proceedings.

On cue I board the 6.59AM train, spotting both Kym Marsh lookalikes in the process (the first time in weeks).  All in all it turns out to be a decent journey as nobody bothers to sit next to or squash me in the process although the guy sat opposite does proceed to breathe over me with stink breath a couple of times.  Pass me a gas mask.

As we near London in the shadow of the Old Truman Brewery chimney the train beaches just outside of Liverpool Street.  It is interesting to note the stark improvement of these mornings now that grey has been replaced by sunlight.

When I finally get on the tube this morning too many people in the carriage resemble future versions of me.  In them I see one aspect of my being and personality exaggerated turned into something I might/could eventually resemble.  I should take this as a warning.  To be honest Friday night has had something of a lasting affect on me and perhaps now I am looking for things such as these.  I am tripping into some kind of self improvement kick now, one that has to be employed quick and fast before it is too late.  This cannot go on.

From here I stroll into work with almost a skip in my step, hopefully this change in mindset will lead the way.  Also today I have work to sink my teeth into meaning that it promises to be a packed, prolific and productive day.

A weird thing is occurring at the moment: my working mornings are feeling non-existent.  Today before I know/realise it the morning has already reached 11.30AM before I have scratched the surface.  That’s not efficient.

For lunch I try to be good and as part of the gesture I have salmon, new potatoes and Hollandaise sauce.  Just who am I kidding?  Unfortunately afterwards I then also proceed to tear into the left over chips/fries.  These are the Monday blues in full swing/action, very much with comfort eating on the agenda.

In the afternoon I eventually manage to achieve/accomplish finishing off the bank which is a definite mark of getting over a hump.

Soon 5.30PM comes around as the day disappears into a blur.  As I head to the tube and change lines at Baker Street I find myself faced by a barrage of people heading down the steps the wrong way and straight into me.  We cram past each other and as we do so I fire each and everyone with shitty looks and expressions as elbows begin flailing in the direction (but sadly never making contact).  Once at the top of the stairs I miss my tube by seconds only to notice that the next train is now not for another 13 minutes.  God hates me.

When I eventually get to Liverpool Street it is to the sight of carnage on the concourse and a thousand gaping expressions looking up at the information board.  I spot that the 6.20PM has a platform though but I fail to acknowledge that it is platform 9 instead of the usual platform 11.  Invariably running on autopilot I head to platform 11 and wind up on the 6.30PM.  Tonight public transport truly fucking hates me.

Things fail to improve as some bolshy dickhead in an insultingly decadent suit decides to sit in slumber opposite me.  Not only does he talk loudly into his phone, not only does he put his briefcase in the aisle causing people to trip up, not only does he spend the journey kicking my feet and banging my knee, basically he is just a cunt.

From here the train beaches not long after leaving Liverpool Street (not even having reached Stratford).  God hates me.

Eventually things get rolling and as the train nears Colchester the olds phone me.  Why are they calling?  To see what I want for dinner?  When I attempt to answer the line is dead.  Old people and technology.

Finally the train gets back to Colchester and as I get off I bump into my cousin from the wedding last summer.  Briefly we shoot the shit and exchange nice nice before I tear home to my parents’ crib at Balkerne Heights where they have Sky and Millwall playing at Leeds tonight.

In the end it is a fucking great game.  Early on Neil Harris finds himself getting into a scrap with Patrick Kisnorbo (no, me neither) and this is just another trait that makes him a ‘Wall legend.  When he is up for it chances are the remainder of the team is going to be.  A few minutes later Kisnorbo gets stretchered off.  Coincidence?

It only takes ten minutes for Millwall to take the lead when Steve Morison does it yet again.  After the bumpy start to the season this guy is turning out to be a revelation, an amazing find.  Without question I take back everything I said about him at the beginning of the season.

From here ‘Wall stand solid and reach halftime with the lead still in place as Leeds in the process look seriously lacking, visibly missing Jermaine Beckford and not good money for their misleading league placing.  This club deserves nothing, they are charlatans and shysters dining off past victories and seemingly existing on borrowed time.  Here’s hoping that by the end of the season will be revealed/exposed for the frauds that they truly are.

In the second half Millwall continue to graft and snuff Leeds out before Shaun Batt scores a wonder goal ten minutes from time, a goal that is just like watching Brazil.

The game ends satisfyingly at 2-0 and with this I head home happy, carefully making my way through all the nuisance cars getting in the way at Balkerne Heights.  I wonder if this issue is ever going to be addressed.  Surely the locals cannot be allowed to run riot like this forever.  Terry Sutton?

When I get back to Bohemian Grove I fall asleep fucking happy.