There is an email address to which I could email from my phone and the text would automatically land on this blog. Not just from my phone either. I could do it from anywhere, though from most places it would be easier to use the regular web page through which I normally edit this stuff.
Anyway, I have forgotten the special email address, so this particular entry, being written on a hot train on the mobile, will be emailed to myself and then transferred. To save a bit of time in future, as I've been sending a lot of things from my phone of late, I added my email address under 'me' in my contacts book. Strangely, the telephone number I'd stored under that alias was one I didn't recognise. Weird.
Why am I on a hot train at just after 6 on a Tuesday evening after a day's accountancy basic training? One answer is that the First Great Western rail company cannot provide either a reliable service or effective air conditioning in their London route. Another answer is that I decided to take the smaller, stopping train to London as the direct train, though larger, was running late, and I have a theory that a late train only gets later.
The real reason that I'm even attempting to get to our nation's capital in the middle of a got July is friendship. Friendship is many things, and one of them is meeting up, catching up, and enjoying fine food and drink. This shall be done.
Boy is it hot in here, though. Yes. Yes it is. The rhetorical question is pointless in this context.
The week started amiably enough, but as yesterday drew on, I got a sense that, much like the rather short shorts on the tattooed legs of the quiz master at last night's pub quiz at which my girlfriend and I assisted her father and his friends into a narrow third place, something wasn't quite right.
To translate this metaphor, and indeed the meaning lost behind that last composite sentence, the bare legs which reviled me at work were in fact a combination of seemingly intertwined and frustratingly near but far solutions.
There's something in my personality which reacts to a challenge. If you give me a difficult puzzle, like getting to dundee for an evening, or playing comedy to a tent sparsely under filled with children, I'll rise to it and defeat the impossible with simple tricks. If, however, you give me something which looks easy, and hides complexity, which shouldn't be there, I have a bit of a mental block. If several problems converge at the same time, if there's a time pressure, and if I have a sense of righteous indignation that the problems shouldn't even need to exist. . . Well, I am afraid that I see red.
And so it came to pass that from 3pm until I left work at 7pm last night, everything that could get in my way did. I started several things only to abort them rather than have them snowball and lead me into shaving a yak. I was not a happy bunny when I drove home.
Today was easier, though I must confess to a few losses of patience. Most notably, during a brief design review over lunch, I turned on my more idealistic and patronising voice and plodded on with displeasure. During the rest of the day I expressed any boredom by making a measured number of wisecracks. I managed to stay calm and not needful of the laugh while doing so, which allowed me to get away with more. The time passed more quickly for me at least, and my suggestion that the receptionists were in fact part of an art installation called 'the three disinterested women' was a hell of a lot kinder than what was actually running through my head at the time.
Since the training session had started at 9.30, I had had to be awake earlier than I prefer, which I suppose I had better get used to, since I will need to do the same next week to have a chance of getting work commitments and performing commitments to balance. Despite it not being totally unreasonable to be in the office for 9, I was a bit woozy and like the proverbial sore headed bear.
I think I got enough sleep. Some of it was at 9 minute intervals as I accurately and instinctively balanced my sleep pattern with the last possible minute I could get up and still be on time. I wish I could just wake up, and trust myself to respond to an alarm at exactly the right time. No luck.
As well at the pub quiz, last night saw us watching a dvd. It was a Mel Gibson movie. I sort of forgot that he did the comic but violent action movie thing. In this film, Payback, he is a tough guy taking revenge on the guy who left him for dead and his mob associates. It's fairly unbelievable, but I found it watchable.
So. Despite having sat hear tapping away enough to fill 10k of text, that's one 36th of an old floppy disk, I'm still stuck on this hot train. My legs feel clammy. Perhaps I should have put on some light weight crop trousers, rather than these jeans. I decided to go with the jeans to avoid being too under dressed. The temperature of my body is rising as a result. At least I don't smell though. At least, I think I don't smell. I might. Sometimes people do. Some folks just got on the train, and they smell mighty bad. Pooey!
I will probably never find out whether this plan to beat the late train worked. As a non stopping train, this ought to be slower, but it's less crowded, and it doesn't appear to have been delayed at all. I shall assume that I made the right decision. I like to think I'm right. Don't we all.
One thing I have failed to get right is the run up to next week's show in Camden. There simply hasn't been the time to sort much out. . . I have done some stuff, but it may be too little too late. We'll see. The others should also have done some work, as should the venue. Of course if everyone thought that way. . .
Life is slowly running itself off the rails. The mortgage needs a kick start too. Note to self. Get life back on rails while it's still teetering rather than totally derailed.
Definitely possible.
Anyway, I have forgotten the special email address, so this particular entry, being written on a hot train on the mobile, will be emailed to myself and then transferred. To save a bit of time in future, as I've been sending a lot of things from my phone of late, I added my email address under 'me' in my contacts book. Strangely, the telephone number I'd stored under that alias was one I didn't recognise. Weird.
Why am I on a hot train at just after 6 on a Tuesday evening after a day's accountancy basic training? One answer is that the First Great Western rail company cannot provide either a reliable service or effective air conditioning in their London route. Another answer is that I decided to take the smaller, stopping train to London as the direct train, though larger, was running late, and I have a theory that a late train only gets later.
The real reason that I'm even attempting to get to our nation's capital in the middle of a got July is friendship. Friendship is many things, and one of them is meeting up, catching up, and enjoying fine food and drink. This shall be done.
Boy is it hot in here, though. Yes. Yes it is. The rhetorical question is pointless in this context.
The week started amiably enough, but as yesterday drew on, I got a sense that, much like the rather short shorts on the tattooed legs of the quiz master at last night's pub quiz at which my girlfriend and I assisted her father and his friends into a narrow third place, something wasn't quite right.
To translate this metaphor, and indeed the meaning lost behind that last composite sentence, the bare legs which reviled me at work were in fact a combination of seemingly intertwined and frustratingly near but far solutions.
There's something in my personality which reacts to a challenge. If you give me a difficult puzzle, like getting to dundee for an evening, or playing comedy to a tent sparsely under filled with children, I'll rise to it and defeat the impossible with simple tricks. If, however, you give me something which looks easy, and hides complexity, which shouldn't be there, I have a bit of a mental block. If several problems converge at the same time, if there's a time pressure, and if I have a sense of righteous indignation that the problems shouldn't even need to exist. . . Well, I am afraid that I see red.
And so it came to pass that from 3pm until I left work at 7pm last night, everything that could get in my way did. I started several things only to abort them rather than have them snowball and lead me into shaving a yak. I was not a happy bunny when I drove home.
Today was easier, though I must confess to a few losses of patience. Most notably, during a brief design review over lunch, I turned on my more idealistic and patronising voice and plodded on with displeasure. During the rest of the day I expressed any boredom by making a measured number of wisecracks. I managed to stay calm and not needful of the laugh while doing so, which allowed me to get away with more. The time passed more quickly for me at least, and my suggestion that the receptionists were in fact part of an art installation called 'the three disinterested women' was a hell of a lot kinder than what was actually running through my head at the time.
Since the training session had started at 9.30, I had had to be awake earlier than I prefer, which I suppose I had better get used to, since I will need to do the same next week to have a chance of getting work commitments and performing commitments to balance. Despite it not being totally unreasonable to be in the office for 9, I was a bit woozy and like the proverbial sore headed bear.
I think I got enough sleep. Some of it was at 9 minute intervals as I accurately and instinctively balanced my sleep pattern with the last possible minute I could get up and still be on time. I wish I could just wake up, and trust myself to respond to an alarm at exactly the right time. No luck.
As well at the pub quiz, last night saw us watching a dvd. It was a Mel Gibson movie. I sort of forgot that he did the comic but violent action movie thing. In this film, Payback, he is a tough guy taking revenge on the guy who left him for dead and his mob associates. It's fairly unbelievable, but I found it watchable.
So. Despite having sat hear tapping away enough to fill 10k of text, that's one 36th of an old floppy disk, I'm still stuck on this hot train. My legs feel clammy. Perhaps I should have put on some light weight crop trousers, rather than these jeans. I decided to go with the jeans to avoid being too under dressed. The temperature of my body is rising as a result. At least I don't smell though. At least, I think I don't smell. I might. Sometimes people do. Some folks just got on the train, and they smell mighty bad. Pooey!
I will probably never find out whether this plan to beat the late train worked. As a non stopping train, this ought to be slower, but it's less crowded, and it doesn't appear to have been delayed at all. I shall assume that I made the right decision. I like to think I'm right. Don't we all.
One thing I have failed to get right is the run up to next week's show in Camden. There simply hasn't been the time to sort much out. . . I have done some stuff, but it may be too little too late. We'll see. The others should also have done some work, as should the venue. Of course if everyone thought that way. . .
Life is slowly running itself off the rails. The mortgage needs a kick start too. Note to self. Get life back on rails while it's still teetering rather than totally derailed.
Definitely possible.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home