June 30 (Wednesday): All due respect. I wake up having suffered a dream about work, this only suggests by it all, I am too stressed out. Does this morning begin with any grand revelations. No, not really.

So, work itself, what happens? Well I manage to go through the day without too much hassle. For Stevo though, it is a different story. This beggars belief but Who actually comes over to the office and tells Stevo that his job on Acme Marketing is "an utter pile of shit". Talk about a negative motivator. Our usually loud office (Chernobyl) goes pretty much silent for the rest of the morning. I guess Mr Acme has made comment about the work/job/accounts to some extent but almost definitely nothing to warrant such comments. Someone just stepped on our graves.

My day isn't much better, Acme Transport have failed to come up with the required reports, despite printing off every other possible report it seems. And Andy remains pedantic about Acme Media, originally I had the job completed in about 18 hours but now continual bouncing it back to me is seeing it headed towards the 30 hour mark.

We lunch at the Marquis, we being myself, Stevo, Brian and Sandip. The television gets put on and we see that Tim Henman is already losing, which I guess is what a loser does. Like a junkie, I get out of there as soon as possible to sample the first day of the HMV summer sale. Minutes later, £27 is added to my credit card and Nil By Mouth, Swingers and Little Shop Of Horrors added to my DVD collection. In the afternoon, by the time I am checking the tennis on my phone, Henman has already choked and lost.

Tonight is five-a-side football and the make up league match against Anglia Grain. As I was explaining to Dad via MSN last night, the reason we won our last match was due to Dick and James Warner and tonight we are their opposition. And I'd forgotten about Andy, their wonderkid in a red England shirt who looks like and is built like Wayne Rooney and plays pretty close to him also. Spirits start off high but then Dick insists on using their scummy, crappy ball instead of the softer indoors ball that we use every week. I don't want to sound soft but that ball fucking hurts/stings and as a result I play the game in a right fucking mood, the most pissed off I have every been in one of our five-a-side. This is even to the point that I am moved to shouting out "pikey fucking ball" and "wankers". As expected one shoot flies and completely fucks up my hand. It is a real shame really because our team is actually playing really well, especially Jack having visibly the best game he has had in weeks. Still, there are casualties on their side also as a shoot gets fired straight into James' balls, perhaps ending any chances of him having kids in the near future. Towards half time we begin to really close the gap but then unfortunately I allow a couple of stupid goals in as per usual and the half time score is 7-5 to Anglia Grain. At halftime I gripe like fuck about the ball, considering kicking it on the roof, considering attempting to squeeze all the air out of it until it pops (yeah, I’m really that strong). I make the smart arse comment "hey, next time we might as well play with a tennis ball". The second half is more of the same and eventually it ends 14-11 to Anglia Grain with me letting in a couple of late ones just as it looked like we might just scrape our way back into the game. My bad. After the game I storm out fucked off, never has one of our five-a-side games made me so angry.

I get in, I bath. Azmei texts about arrangements to meet for lunch tomorrow. I tell her about my interviews on Friday and she says she’s going up to London also Friday and she suggests that we go up together. It’s a plan, it’s a date. Actually, I really really appreciate this, it will be so, I guess, comforting and infinitely helpful to have some support to prep me for my first city interviews, albeit just agency ones.

Tonight is the return of Euro 2004 and its Holland v Portugal. I hate Portugal and before the tournament Holland were my picks so it’s obvious (and boring) as to whom I want to win this one. Unfortunately however, Holland are piss poor yet again and Ronaldo scores yet another great goal. They later add a second against an impotent Holland whose only way of scoring appears to be to have Portugal score for them (with an own goal). I watch this game with a half arsed heart, without us in the tournament now it really is pointless and to be honest they might as well shut up shop. Laters.

np: Breeders - Saints