Dang!

Dang!

I just had a pretty harsh afternoon.

I got hassled by Junkies that couldn't remember the difference between four and two, but somehow intimately knew their way around the Courthouse. Cunts.

I also got caught in a majon Snafu about the lists. Since I am still learning the ropes, it was fucked.

Aparently my vagueness saved me from having to deal alone, since the bloke who trained me today, Sid, told me that he was told to deal with the court by himself on his third day.

If I was a faster learner, I would have had to deal with the court by myself and I would have been at the dead centre of the whole fucked up sitch.

At one point I actually felt in control. Sid had left the room, Elaine (my trainer for the past three days) was coming, the Counsel for the defence were all coming in and I was scheduling them in order and stuff. I had announced the first case and was writing a running order on a post-it note when Elaine walked in and asked me what all the extra-bits of paper were for, since all the information I needed was on the sheets.

Sure, the information is on the sheets. But it might as well be in Cyrillic for all the clarity it has. And I'm the kind of guy that needs to write everything down in advance, especially if I'm going to be announcing it in the court.

I can hear a name and forget it thirty seconds later. If I am looking for a piece of info, while I'm working out how to find it I'll forget what I'm looking for.

Anyways, I also fumbled the swearing in of an Irishman applying for a Temporary Licence (who the fuck says RC when they mean Catholic? Really?) and from that point on my confidence was shot.

And there was the incident when the lousy junkie who had been asking me to find out when the case for this other junkie slag was coming up (she had missed her appointment because, surprise suprise, she's a fucking junkie) in room two. He asked me every time I walked past. I asked other people, they had no idea.

Eventually I was swiftly going from one courtroom to the other and the bloke tried to flag me down: 'Remember: Norton.'

'Right. Norton.' I replied, not breaking step. He didn't like this.

'Don't walk away from me! And don't be rude!' He yelled in my wake.

I turned around to glare at him before walking straight into Court 2. I had thought about saying 'OR WHAT?' or possibly even, 'Listen you Scotch Stinking alcoholic piece of Islington Street Trash, I have been making enquiries and getting nowhere. You know this place much better than me, you tell me what to do?'

But I decided it wasn't worth it, and I should be back in the Courtroom.

Sid later told me that the Junkie Slut was actually due in Court 4. Stupid Matchstick thin hag. Fuck I hate junkies.

Good things that happened today: I finally sent off the money order for the KMFDM album I bought on EBAY. Yay.

Also: Chris, my favourite collegue, was hanging in Court 1 with Anje (the lister training him) while they were trying an Iraqi Asylum Seeker who was driving without a licence, speeding and had no insurance.

Anje quietly turned to us both and whispered, 'If an Asylum Seeker comes to this country and breaks the law, let's send him home! If we stole something in his country, we'd get our hands cut off!'.

Anje is Asian. And a muslim. She rocks.

Last night: went to the Progress Bar to see if the pretty solicitor who winked at me was hosting open mic night. Nope, not this week.

I stayed long enough to hear a couple of singers lay out their self involved Wuss-rock acoustic bed-wetter tunes, all the while thinking to myself, I should write a song for this:

'Next up we have Jason!'
'Thanks Dave. This one's called I Fucking Hate Mewling Amateur Singer Songwriters in North London.'
'That's great Jason. I loved your song last week. What was it called again?'
'Thanks Dave. It was called I Just Had A Blowjob that was Better Than Sex.'
'Wonderful.'

Hmm. I probably wouln't get out of the room unscarred, but it would be worth it.

After that I made it to Camden in time to see Nile. Nile were so heavy they made me Nauseas. Or it could have been dehydration.

Outside I met a blonde english girl and an Israeli Rastafarian girl who were handing out flyers. They were cool.

I declined their offer to get me drunk, since I had to work in the morning.

Back to Leytonstone and I met a couple of kids that I had met on the Train West, earlier that night. They did invite me to join them every Friday at the Walnut Tree pub on the corner of the Leytonstone High Road. Which is good. I don't usually go to pubs, because I have no one to go with. They were cool, but the cost me an hour of sleep.

Dang.

I did get up in time to go to work, though. I even got to the station in time of a Trademark Central Line Fuckup to happen (twelve minutes to go three stations thanks to a Signal Failure) and it didn't make me late.

It just made me pissed off.

No matter.

I've got to go.

I'm going to see Opeth, but I will be home in time to get enough sleep.

Over and out.