Friday 1 May 2009

Where is my government issued swine flu leaflet? I don’t know what to do!

Today I am late leaving which ordinarily makes me late arriving at the train station. In a backhanded moment of fortune though my 7.03 train is late and I catch it easy even though yet again the platform feels packed with strangers again.

The train arrives into Liverpool Street at 8.06 this morning. Not good.

In contrast to the busy train the tube is pretty quiet and sedate today. On it I find a discarded copy of The Sun, which usually tends to act as an indicator of a good day ahead.

This particular Friday plays out uneventfully. Soon the day becomes hot and sticky and generally uncomfortable which kind of cuts down and reduces productivity and energy levels. The summer saps me generally.

It doesn’t feel as if it has been a whole day when 5PM comes around and we head home to our respective weekends. At Liverpool Street I board the 5.50 to Norwich and for a second day running I see Sarah. As I troll down the carriage she looks up but I’m not sure that she clocks me. Even if she did clock me I am not so sure that she would acknowledge me and even if she did that it is unlikely that it would be a positive thing.

Eventually I get sat next to a chatty group of people sat around a table and when towards the end of the journey a woman to our right begins rabidly coughing this prompts nervous expressions between us and an increased fear of catching swine flu.

Once back in Colchester I return home to two letters from my bastard property agents. Why do I have two of these swine fuckers? I suspect there is a third one knocking around waiting to hit me for more insurance, for more ground rent, for more service charges, for more property works, for more tax. One letter is pursuing me for £331.48 and the other for £258.97, so much for my fucking bonus and payrise. Cocksuckers.

This Friday night is gorgeous, amazing and it is a true tragedy that I find myself unable to make the most of it, to make more of the wonders of the world. These sunny summer Friday evenings are what life was invented for.

For a second night run I spend it looking out of my window smoking a large cigar, this is a nasty filthy habit I have got myself back into. Maybe it is from feeling low. Maybe it is from the feeling of being unable to relax at this time. Perhaps it is my way of dealing with my inferiority. Tonight’s smoke of choice is a Guantanamera Habana, a name perhaps a bit too close to Guantanamo for comfort. Here's just hoping I don’t burn my flat down.

On Jon Stewart (The Daily Show) we see the ground zero of swine flu: Edgar Hernandez. Sorry, I mean the “Hybrid Flu”. That little fucking cunt, what was he doing kissing pigs? Apparently. Considering the amount of pigs I have dated in the past couple of years it is a wonder I have not contracted the disease sooner (there is distinctly more chance of that than an STD or STI or whatever they are called these days). Out of fear of this pox I chose not to order Carbonara at the restaurant today because it contains bacon and I really really wanted that dish!

Soon I am for bed and annoyingly I almost feel physically sick when I fall asleep before Jools Holland comes on because tonight Sonic Youth are on the show. No stamina.