Wednesday, October 13, 2004

September 8 (Wednesday): Dante. This morning I emerge from slumber shaken. That night contained a couple of really disturbing dreams, the main regarding my trip to Norwich. In this scenario Melchard decides to come with me, then announces a detour via London in order to drop off his personal car for a holiday trip and then he decides to bring Margaret along as his PA. And all the while he is rushing me along.

Surprisingly Sara is still speaking to me on MSN. Thought after yesterday those days might now be over. Just before leaving for work, I MSN with Phoebe, checking in on this and that, all forgettable stuff but a gesture with regards to keeping spinning plates spinning (if you know what I mean). I am however suggesting again that we meet up, this times suggestion being doing Camden. What exactly it is that we might do in Camden is a complete mystery but gotta do something.

I have the fear, my stomach is permanently twisting in knots. And I don't know why.

When we get into work, all the drama getting the books back to Acmelight remains until Jack just cuts through all the bullshit (as he often does) and just says “we’ll get it couriered�.

For the remainder of the day I feel hyped at work and don’t really speak/talk. I receive a phonecall from Hays and get confirmation for my call back interview at Rose’s set for Friday morning at 8.30. Bonza.

When I return back over the road, there is the eternally hilarious sight of Melchard sat in/at Jack's desk larging it. Is he eyeing up jumping in his grave? It certainly looks that way when Mr H pumps out apparent additional authority.

Mid morning, I find myself talking to Chris Taylor about affairs in/on/about Great Holland that mum told me about the other day. And it is with reference to a family called the Gilberts that used to be the bad news family in my village when growing up and the current tales with regards are nothing less than what you would expect from them. I’ve found myself thinking about them a bit lately because the “Out My League Girl� who works in Wellington House looks like one of the daughters (is this the source of my perverse attraction to a girl who used to bully me?). Our conversation is lengthy and it makes me appear clued up as Mr Taylor tells me about what is planned for/with the close pub that the family lives in and how the community is getting involved in preventing one of villages prominent structures from being turned into residential flats. Taylor appears to knows all the legalities and ins and outs of the dispute, which sounds infinitely more interesting than the financial dealings of being a white bread accountant (such as I).

In the aftermath of the working day, I wait late to make a phonecall to Eva in Cambridge. Unfortunately however Stevo (all banged up and bandaged still) seems also intent on staying late. When I eventually get to call her up, her voice sounds insane and I sound like am a total pussy. She asks me if I can see her tomorrow in the daytime. Nope, so she tells me to call her back Monday.

When I get in I find Phoebe’s response to MSN to my suggestion of hooking up in Camden, her response being “yeah sure but are you sure?�. Oh dear, trouble in paradise.

Again, on a Wednesday night, there is thankfully no five-a-side and Ben calls me up and manages to talk me around, into going to the pub to watch England on telly. Initially I don’t really fancy but I am easily talked around and we head to the Wig & Pen in an attempt to relive Euro 2004 (would have gone to Yates but no football in there sadly). The Wig & Pen actually turns out to be shockingly quiet, I guess England v Poland isn’t the biggest of crowd pullers. It actually winds up being a real good night, Ben and I talk through the match and don’t really pay much attention as we win. During the game I phone home to check on how Dad did on his first day back at work (in over 18 months), OK it seems. The game plods on and England pull off the win while Ben points out Colchester United’s Steve Hunt in the pub stood behind us.

After the game we get chips and eat them like pikeys in my car (generally a real total no no by me). As we do so, James Warner wanders past and I really should have asked him how he/they did in their five-a-side league match tonight. Nevermind.

Once home, really really late I receive a text message from Staff asking me if I want to DJ at the Kill Yourself show tomorrow night. I can’t as I’m starting my English course tomorrow so instead I suggest that Chris do it. Nice.

I go to bed watching Run Ronnie Run.

np: Beastie Boys – Boomin’ Granny


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