Friday 9 April 2010

Friday 9 April 2010

A panic attaches itself to the opening of today when after my alarm buzzes at 7AM the next thing I know is that it is thirty minutes later and I am officially late.  I never doze.

From here I speedily pull myself together and exit the house something of a mess.

Despite everything being a rush this morning though I eventually end up on the usual 6.59AM as per some kind of increased clockwork.  I guess these moments of urgency are the ones that truly make life worth living.  Maybe not.

I sit further back on the train than normal in section that feels alien and foreign to me.  Variety is the spice of life.  As a result the train is much more quiet and pleasant as a result, things are good at this end of the train.

Today is the longing suite.  I haven’t felt this exhausted in a very long time and as a result I now desire some affection to get me through it.  Seldom do I feel so wet these days but today I have to concede a hug would be a good thing.  Now man the fuck up.

Eventually I sleepwalk into London and through Liverpool Street.  Later on the tube at Kings Cross a vivid David Carradine lookalike boards making for a ghoulish spectre.  He is wearing a suit and thick winter gloves.  Just what is behind that reckoning?  Chill Bill?  As he turns his head he reveals/exposes an ample clump/mound of flesh on the crown of his head.  Has he been chipped?

Soon I find myself at my desk as the slack week begins to catch up on me.  Things begin positively as the Filipino brings in a sweet sweet pastry for us to share.  This thing, my god its great, I swear it comes lined with a streak of custard.  I almost feel embarrassed to eat it.

The morning turns out to be a stunted one as slowly I progress with the accounts in a wayward manner resembling a person suffering from autism.  By lunchtime I have accomplished some stuff but as usual not enough to keep me on target.  As a result of self pity I wind up having lamb burger for lunch.  It’s a good dish.

In the afternoon I pick up steam (as I always do on Fridays) but every time I complete a task I remember another one that needs doing.

It is incredibly quiet in the office today.  With it being such a glorious day one boss is out playing golf while another has headed up to Liverpool to visit relatives.  As a result of this our own boss gets very bored in the process.

Things improve slightly when the IT guy shows his face and makes an appearance.

Towards the end of the day the boss says we can go a little early and it is obvious that he wants drinks.  What is wrong with me?  Most people would kill to have a boss that pulls them off deadlines to business drunk.  Not me though, I’m a proper fun sponge.

In the end I finish off a draft of the March accounts and head down.  Before doing so I hang around with the radio for a while with the Wonder Years being done in alphabetical order and when it reaches C they play Crazy Town.  Now this is a song that sends me spiralling.

Around the time “Butterfly” by Crazy Town was released it was also the period that I was knocking around with Bella and being an “alternative type” she naturally liked this song because it featured dickheads covered in tattoos sounding like the Red Hot Chili Peppers.  Her aunt liked it also.  To me I could never get my head around this song was acceptable.  Basically looking back at the video the band looked like rapists trying to act sensitive and this was something people fell for hook, line and sinker including Bella.  I shudder to think (back).

I wind up hanging around after work for an hour of business drunk which for me kind of defeats the point/purpose of leaving early on a Friday.  Eventually I get out just after 6.15PM and I am super grumpy for it.

Invariably by the time I reach Liverpool Street the peak trains have gone meaning a journey ahead with the non-commuting proles.  When did I become such a snob?

As I board the 7PM train unsurprisingly it is filled with tags on booked seats and families looking for said seats.  As I sit stoic and ignorant a loud family emerges and the spare seat next to me gets immediately and blatantly earmarked by the mother.  As I let her in I do so with a huff.

With three of her kids in close proximity I quickly come to the conclusion that this is a woman that should not have kids or at least not have them around anywhere near me.  As she pulls out her Tesco bag and distributes the food I watch as the boy eats a raw pack of ham.  Jamie Oliver would have a shit fit.

The train makes me angry tonight as I begin ranting on Facebook about wishing that the train would become one that derailed and killed people because that would be less annoying than being around these people.

Eventually I get back to Colchester but I am still steaming as my grumpiness continues far into the night.

Once home I watch South Park where the kids write their own version of The Catcher In The Rye in Henry Fool fashion (well, Simon Grim).  It’s a good episode.

I manage to write a little and find myself determined to watch the Chris Tarrant roast on Channel Four.  Before this begins however My Embarrassing Body takes up the prime hour of 9PM on Channel Four.  What kind of sick and insane person watches this?

Unsurprisingly I fall asleep minutes into the roast.  This is something we just cannot do in this country, we’re not stupid to the degree of being American (although these days we give it a fucking good go).