Not too bad...

Hey there.

Today wasn't too bad. It started pretty hellishly, but it got better.

In fact, right now I'm feeling pretty good. But I'll get to that.

After shlepping all the way to Tufnel Park to hear two surprisingly well played new acoustic numbers my acoustic threshold was reached, so I bought a peach and an Ice-cream and decided to head home.

Something about Tufnel Park. Does anyone remember me telling them about some Hardcore Punk shows that I stumbled across a few months ago (more accurately, I ran into some Hardcore Kids in Leytonstone, and I tagged along with them to the shows)?

The Progress Bar, the scene of these Adult Contemporary Crimes, is actually down the road from the venue of these shows.

I like North London. Especially Tufnell Park. London, it seems, is full of places where you can't actually be sure that you were in London.

In Leytonstone, for instance, if someone were to hit me over the head with an iron bar, knocking me out cold for a few minutes, when I came around I would suspect I was in Stones' Corner. On Oxford Street, you could be in any major city in the Western World.

But Tufnell Park you know that you are in London. Or maybe Brooklyn.

In any case, in the distance between the Station and the pub, I was struck by the dignified beauty of the three storey terrace houses (four if you count the semi-submerged basement floors). Nice. I'd love to live in one of those.

Anyways, I took the tube home and wandered back up Leytonstone High Street, hoping that I would home before the end of Lost. I didn't, but nevermind. I'll buy the DVD or watch the repeat.

Funnily enough I saw a couple of the Checkout Chicks from Tescos smoking cigarettes at the Bus Stop just before Trinity Close. The Cute but Chavvy one with the Blonde Hair recognised me and gave me a Hi!

Anyways, I set my four alarms and got to sleep.

In the morning I woke up with the first alarm, but I switched scotched the next three. Then I woke up at half seven.

FUCK!

Furious with myself for ruining a near perfect week of being early for work, I decided to effectively skip my shower and get on my way.

Into the cold fucking rain. Joy.

There was a crowd waiting for the bus to the station, but I figured that the odds were that I would get to the station before it came. And I was right.

But that still meant that I had to trudge through the rain.

Leytonstone to Stratford. Stratford my fears were confirmed: I was there at ten past eight, but the next train wasn't for another twelve minutes.

I messaged Chris that I was going to be late because of train troubles (a stupid move, I later realised, since I really should have just called my supervisor and explained my slightly fictitious version of the situation).

Then the train came and we all piled in. Cue the twenty minute ride to Highbury Station that makes me want to cry every morning (think I a wuss? you take the ride sometime and see how you feel!).

Packed like cattle, obnoxious braided school-girls complaining and more people trying to get one at every station. To add insult to injury, for the first time in living memory I wasn't able to see out of a window and the train driver did not announce that it was Highbury and Islington Station.

So I went straight past my stop.

FUCKING FUCK.

I got off at the next stop (and helped an asian lady carry her stroller bound child up and down the stairs on the footbridge), but the next train was fifteen minutes away. At least. Another stranger told me that Highbury corner was only ten minutes walk, if I walked at a pace, so I decided to leg it.

No Cabs. No buses, but I did get to the Courthouse by Nine. All the way I was rehearsing what I was going to say:

'You are so late. You're fired!'
'You can't fire me!'
'Why not?'
'Because I fucking quit, you fucking fuckers!'
'Fine! Fuck you and Fuck Off!'
'Fucking Right... can you sign my timesheet?'

Anyways, I get there to no shouting or fury. Elaine looked up and told me that she figured that there were train troubles. Chris shrugged and said that the transport system can't cope with an inch of rain.

And then it was go go go.

Back to Ushering today. And List Calling in the afternoon (Elaine did pick out the order of the cases).

I'm still good at the Ushering, and my List Calling is getting more confident. I'm still not too confident with the whole ordering of cases and stuff, and I did make some gaffes, but I am getting better.

Did I mention that the people who are training me had six months experience of Ushering before they became List Callers?

Me and Chris were lucky to get SIX DAYS!

Anyways, I managed to get through the day without everything falling on it's head, so that was okay.

The only thing that worried me was that I saw that the Junkie Scrag from last week (the one whose friend gave me all the static) ws due back in my court. And she was being represented by Hickman and Rose.

Farrah's Firm.

D'oh! I could just see the coming scene: Farrah being called over to take instructions - 'Farrah, you see that dickhead over there with the stupid look in his face and the rings around his eyes?'

'Yeah, isn't he dreamy?'
'No, he's a real Prick!'

Fortunately the Junkie (Junkette?) was represented by Mr O'Reilly, another lawyer from Hickman and Rose, and even luckier, the silly bint didn't turn up. A warrant was issued for her arrest.

Funny how junkies bring out my misogynistic side. Maybe it's just that I hate them all, full stop.

Enough about work.

For the ride home, for some reason I decided not to take the Victoria Line south to Oxford Circus to change to the Central Line, but to instead take the Overland train back to Stratford.

And on the platform I ran into La Rosa. Last person I expected to see that time of day, let alone ever again, but that is the random nature of my life.

She was headed to Bow to see a friend about how she was going to organise a Hen's Night for a friend who's getting married.

We chatted away, I told her a few of the things that had happened since February. Moving to Leytonstone from Walthamstow, working at Newham Council, getting a Mump etc.

I actually gave her the Modernist Drawing of a rose that I had done, telling that somewhere along the way I felt like being an artist again.

Of course, what I had planned to say was 'After meeting you, I felt like being an artist again.' But I thought the vaguer version was a little less likely to freak her out.

She liked the drawing anyway. I thought it was a little rough. I think I did it either last night or the night before just before going to sleep. It was a version of the one I did a few months ago.

When I get a digital camera, I'll take a snap of it and put it online.

Anyways, soon I'm going to wind up here and get over to Camden to go to some Terrorizer Magazine night over at the Devonshire Arms. I wouldn't go, but members of the Terrorizer Staff will be there DJing, so it'll be good to get to know their faces.

Maybe even work on being a Face myself.

If I get to be a face, maybe I can find out how to get involved with the magazine.

I've had worse plans, anyway.

I just have to make sure that I am home in time to get a good night's sleep.

First step: Go Home and Get Changed.

Over and out.

J