under another sun

Bleary morning. Dragging myself unwillingly to work. Left my flask of tea on the side so as the dire First Capital Connect trains have nothing onboard drank my first cup of tea at an unprecedented two and a half hours after getting up. A poor experience. Reading an MS by Mark Hill, a writer who I once worked with, who is living Portugal. Interesting book about him leaving London in the midst of a mid life crisis, with a broken heart and a drink problem, and his gradual recovery living in a small village in Portugal. A series of small things got my day off to a slightly askew start: being shouted at not to use a lift I was walking into because it was for a paramedic in the office reception; an email from the people who are managing my property saying that someone had crowbarred the door knocker from my door in the Twitten and what was I going to do about it. And an irritating discussion with unhelpful colleagues: a collection of small Pooterish peeves.  In a lull, I happened...

To London feeling subdued and cold. Listening to the excellent  Midnight's Children , and working a little on poetry. The train late as usual. First Capital Connect deserve to be flogged. Every day the train is late and there is nothing you can do about it other than simply suck it up. Slunk off at lunchtime with First Matie to score some species of sandwich, and have a chat. Otherwise spent the day shaping some technical website copy about cat and dog treatments for bacterial infections. Felt like I was clock watching all day, partly because I felt rough, and partly because the work was short on laughs. Slow journey home in the dark. Talking to Mum as I walked home from the station. She'd returned after many adventures with Jana. She'd had a brilliant time, walking in forests, drinking exotic boozes in Prague and attending the opera. Lorraine had been working in a half-term unheated school all day. Both pleased to be home, revelling in the  simple joys of a pasta bake ...

Another early start. Arrived at Farringdon at 8:30, pausing to buy a bacon sandwich from 'Tasty Cafe', which Toby would have liked, as tasty is my brother's highest accolade for food, modified in Japan for oishii , which means the same. A cheery Friday atmosphere pervading the office, full of colourful East End characters, who among their obvious talents at layout and design, swear vividly and often.  Two of them were talking about John Terry, the Chelsea football captain, who is in disgrace this week for racially abusing another professional during an ill-tempered game. One of them related a heartfelt story about how Terry phoned a dying fan, a friend of a friend, who had a young family. Terry spoke to him for two hours and was nothing but kind. The designer ended his story by saying 'of course, he's still a f*****g c**t though'. Fairly joyously released back into the wild, artfully dodging down Passing Alley towards the station. A couple of months of ...

Incredibly crawling late train this morning. The Brighton to St Pancras First Capital Connect service is truly dire, and their timetables are works of risible fiction. I find this all very stressful. Once at work, a pleasant enough day. Off at lunchtime with Matt to a local pub and we discussed my (advertising focused) New Idea, plus Jungian archetypes and other wide ranging subjects over a glass of wine and a bit of fish-based snap.  After work, I found myself in an extraordinary local dive called The County with Steve and Pat, (who have their own unsavoury name for it). Like stepping back into the 1970s, with strange decorations and lots of little tables with chairs. I had to change my chair for the gentleman who had been sitting in it before me was evidently rather aromatic. An hour or so given over to gossiping about former colleagues and their mad ways. Interspersed with older people shouting at each other.  Home, and a late chat with Lorraine before heading for be...

Stranded in London So to London again to work in Tavistock Square. Feeling cheery this morning, as I was to work on some interesting stuff to do with dental caries (tooth decay). Made Pooterish observations about how the work was boring and the same old drill , though no one seemed to appreciate this. Hot sweaty day, and the office air conditioning seemingly at its last gasp. Sidled up to Marks and Sparks with Kate at lunchtime for a chat as we bought our lunches. Worked with Keith in the late afternoon. I find working with him quite exhilarating sometimes. Then shortly before I set off from home Lorraine texted me to say that as she was driving home the radio had said the trains between London and Brighton were doomed. A burst water main had created a small landslip onto the track which had made it impassable. Quick glance at all the websites showed that to get to Gatwick (half way home for me) add four hours onto your journey. Plan B was to leap into the sweaty sardine tin of the t...

Dripping Gandhi Up to Tavistock Square again. Feeling slightly brighter today than of late. Lunch with Pat we walked to a restaurant called the Palms of Goa. Pat full of bounce, and in good spirits. A whiff of sulphur from the restaurant as we approached, and there was Spooner and his art director, and we were soon joined by Bob Nash who first hired me for my old Glamoursmith agency over 10 years ago. Nice to see them, and Spooner always glinting, but the agency gossip seems all a bit remote these days. After work, still writing the unspeakable haemophilia document, met up with the old Mad dog, between heavy showers, by the dripping statue of Gandhi in the centre of Tavistock Square. Someone had put a little jar with two or three marigolds from the flower bed by his feet. Bob tetchy at first, but soon mellowed. Had a quick rain-dodging drink before we ducked into another Indian restaurant. Good to see Bob, and give him a slightly belated birthday card. After fond farewells at St Pancra...