Wednesday 8 April 2009
I awaken thankfully without a hangover today. Slowly I arise and begin to study my flat fearing the potential wreckage from a drunken rampage upon returning home last night. I remember it being smattered in peanut butter but as to what else I did and accidentally bang/bumped into and knocked remains something of a concern and worry as I pull myself from my bed like a bear recovered from a sore head.
My place looks ransacked, as if burgled. I then realise that this is how it always looks and soon acknowledge that it is business as usual and thankfully last night I did no harm.
I look at my phone to discover two text messages from Nina last night. The second text embarrassingly states “Guess your (sic) too pissed to chat? X” Suddenly I begin to feel pathetic.
Leaving the house is late this morning and without my kickboxing kit which again wasn’t even a consideration. This week’s excuse? Erm, I want to be fit for the Easter weekend?
Another day another delay just outside Liverpool Street station. Outside the station our train just dies, stopping short of turning the lights off and acting as if they have forgotten that there are still commuters/passengers left on the train. The announcer pops (perks) up addressing the train informing us that the train is not actually booked into the platform until 8.04 but the time is already actually 8.05 and rising. The trains to Auschwitz probably ran on better time than this.
Eventually we pull in at 8.08.
This morning though I cannot help but smile as I pass the poster for In The Loop. James Gandolfini’s big Tony Soprano smile is a wonderful thing to behold.
Upon emerging from St Johns Wood this morning suddenly it has turned into a beautiful day and suddenly a peak of optimism raises its head.
The day pans out to be relatively nondescript but still busy.
Looking around the net I again find myself being wowed by Ayumi Hamasaki’s new stuff.
In the afternoon Szesze texts me for the first time in weeks but unfortunately she doesn’t really offer much to work with. I respond with enthusiasm and friendliness but when her reply is too businesslike I can’t even be bothered to reply to the second message. What is it with the women I meet and their lack energy and integrity?
Again I find myself ending up working a little late this evening and as a result of this by the time I finally get to Liverpool Street not for the first time I find myself running for my train but I still get it.
As I stumble onto the train being late I only manage to snag a seat that faces the direction in which the train is going (this example being pointed towards Essex rather than London). OCD kicks in. Usually I grab a seat on the aisle aimed going backwards so that I see all the oncoming/approaching passengers so that I can a) avoid and duck their elbows and handbags as they pass and b) perv on the hot women boarding the train.
Then the seating jinx kicks in as……
Some stinky Irish guy decides he wants to sit next to me. As I look over to avoid his glance I notice opposite me to my left is an extreme pizza faced individual (adult). What the fuck is going on with his boat? It soon occurs to me that this is one shot to bits train.
Back to my right the Irish guy sits at the table with his head held in his hands. When he asks me if the train stops at Colchester (he fucking knows it does) it becomes obvious that he wants to talk. In reply I just nod curtly as I return to watching In Treatment on my iPhone. Unfortunately for the woman sat opposite us on the table she is less rude and with less scope to escape his attention and as a result she gets trapped into conversation with him (a lady far too polite for her own good).
Before the train gets to Colchester the Mick apologies to the lady, gets up and leaves while I am trying to watch a very emotional funeral episode of In Treatment. The fucker. After he leaves the woman and her colleague (boss) laugh the guy off and in a gesture of feeling superior.
In the end I wind up at the olds watching Liverpool v Chelsea in the Champions League. It is a real shock when Chelsea take apart the very in form and usually on song current Liverpool team. As the match pushes on I find myself cheering on Chelsea goals going in, something I never ever expected I would ever find myself doing. The 3-1 score does ultimately feel somewhat misleading. Bye bye Victimpool.
Late in the game the old man tells me how a parking ticket was slapped on my car today due to him moving the parking permit from my windscreen. They try to wind me up for a few minutes before telling me that dad got it squashed. They think they’re fucking funny.
When I finally get home logging onto Facebook it is spewing out more and more dickheads in the “people you might know” section. Yeah, they may also be people I might hate too.
Once home for another week running I find myself watching only The Apprentice You’re Fired show and not the actual episode. This week Majid gets shitcanned which I am unsympathetically very happy about because his beard just fucking annoyed me.
I awaken thankfully without a hangover today. Slowly I arise and begin to study my flat fearing the potential wreckage from a drunken rampage upon returning home last night. I remember it being smattered in peanut butter but as to what else I did and accidentally bang/bumped into and knocked remains something of a concern and worry as I pull myself from my bed like a bear recovered from a sore head.
My place looks ransacked, as if burgled. I then realise that this is how it always looks and soon acknowledge that it is business as usual and thankfully last night I did no harm.
I look at my phone to discover two text messages from Nina last night. The second text embarrassingly states “Guess your (sic) too pissed to chat? X” Suddenly I begin to feel pathetic.
Leaving the house is late this morning and without my kickboxing kit which again wasn’t even a consideration. This week’s excuse? Erm, I want to be fit for the Easter weekend?
Another day another delay just outside Liverpool Street station. Outside the station our train just dies, stopping short of turning the lights off and acting as if they have forgotten that there are still commuters/passengers left on the train. The announcer pops (perks) up addressing the train informing us that the train is not actually booked into the platform until 8.04 but the time is already actually 8.05 and rising. The trains to Auschwitz probably ran on better time than this.
Eventually we pull in at 8.08.
This morning though I cannot help but smile as I pass the poster for In The Loop. James Gandolfini’s big Tony Soprano smile is a wonderful thing to behold.
Upon emerging from St Johns Wood this morning suddenly it has turned into a beautiful day and suddenly a peak of optimism raises its head.
The day pans out to be relatively nondescript but still busy.
Looking around the net I again find myself being wowed by Ayumi Hamasaki’s new stuff.
In the afternoon Szesze texts me for the first time in weeks but unfortunately she doesn’t really offer much to work with. I respond with enthusiasm and friendliness but when her reply is too businesslike I can’t even be bothered to reply to the second message. What is it with the women I meet and their lack energy and integrity?
Again I find myself ending up working a little late this evening and as a result of this by the time I finally get to Liverpool Street not for the first time I find myself running for my train but I still get it.
As I stumble onto the train being late I only manage to snag a seat that faces the direction in which the train is going (this example being pointed towards Essex rather than London). OCD kicks in. Usually I grab a seat on the aisle aimed going backwards so that I see all the oncoming/approaching passengers so that I can a) avoid and duck their elbows and handbags as they pass and b) perv on the hot women boarding the train.
Then the seating jinx kicks in as……
Some stinky Irish guy decides he wants to sit next to me. As I look over to avoid his glance I notice opposite me to my left is an extreme pizza faced individual (adult). What the fuck is going on with his boat? It soon occurs to me that this is one shot to bits train.
Back to my right the Irish guy sits at the table with his head held in his hands. When he asks me if the train stops at Colchester (he fucking knows it does) it becomes obvious that he wants to talk. In reply I just nod curtly as I return to watching In Treatment on my iPhone. Unfortunately for the woman sat opposite us on the table she is less rude and with less scope to escape his attention and as a result she gets trapped into conversation with him (a lady far too polite for her own good).
Before the train gets to Colchester the Mick apologies to the lady, gets up and leaves while I am trying to watch a very emotional funeral episode of In Treatment. The fucker. After he leaves the woman and her colleague (boss) laugh the guy off and in a gesture of feeling superior.
In the end I wind up at the olds watching Liverpool v Chelsea in the Champions League. It is a real shock when Chelsea take apart the very in form and usually on song current Liverpool team. As the match pushes on I find myself cheering on Chelsea goals going in, something I never ever expected I would ever find myself doing. The 3-1 score does ultimately feel somewhat misleading. Bye bye Victimpool.
Late in the game the old man tells me how a parking ticket was slapped on my car today due to him moving the parking permit from my windscreen. They try to wind me up for a few minutes before telling me that dad got it squashed. They think they’re fucking funny.
When I finally get home logging onto Facebook it is spewing out more and more dickheads in the “people you might know” section. Yeah, they may also be people I might hate too.
Once home for another week running I find myself watching only The Apprentice You’re Fired show and not the actual episode. This week Majid gets shitcanned which I am unsympathetically very happy about because his beard just fucking annoyed me.
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