Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Erica

I spoke to Erica today. She was wearing a crystal blue dress, with imprinted white flowers. Her hair has up, tied in a bun, by a small blue elastic hairband. Most people wouldn't have noticed it, but I did. I like observing people.

I got up at 6.00am, as usual, had my breakfast (today it was Coco Pops), and left the house at 7.00am on the dot. I arrived at work at 8.05am, which is earlier than usual. This was because the times of my trains were such that as soon as I arrived on my platform, my train semed to arrive a few seconds later, & I spent little time waiting. I like it when mathematical events conspire to make you early. It's like the logistical fates are wishing you well.

Erica is one of the secretaries who works here. Not my secretary - the position I hold is too junior to warrant a secretary. She works for one of the senior accountants who works on the top floor of the office building. I work on the second floor.

I had a sandwich for lunch. Prawn Mayonnaise. I read The Telegraph while I had my sandwich, sitting on a park bench a few minutes walk from my office. I spent less time than usual having my lunch because I had a lot of work to do today - there were a lot of figures for me to check. But I managed to finish all my work before I left.

I think of Erica when I'm alone sometimes. I know that she barely notices me. But sometimes she says hello to me, & sometimes we have a conversation. This makes me happy. Today we talked about one of the senior partners at the firm, a man named Jack Fincher. He is retiring at the end of the week. She said that she thought it was sad that the office was loosing someone who was as pleasant and as nice as Mr. Fincher. I agreed. I have never met Jack Fincher.

On my way home from my bus stop I walked back home the long way. I didn't skirt past the filth that was beginning to fill the streets again, but instead I threw myself right into the middle of all the drug users, prostitutes and lowlifes. I felt too clean. I wanted to feel unclean. I bumped into an old aquaintance called Annie. I've been seeing Annie on & off for the best part of a year now. I don't much like Annie, but I like the disraction that she provides me, if only for 20 minutes. She took me back to her squalid house & we had sex. Then I left.

As my conversation with Erica was coming to a close, she mentionned that there would be a retirement party for Mr. Fincher this Friday night. She asked me if I was going. She said that I should come. At first I didn't know what to say. But then I said that I would come. I'm looking forward to Friday now. And I'm looking forward to speaking with Erica again.

Monday, February 14, 2005

My Day

Woke up at 6.00am this morning, as I always do on weekdays. The first thing I do after I get up is have a shower. I can't stand feeling sweaty & dirty when I start a new day. I need to feel clean. Then I get dressed - I have to wear a suit to work. I like wearing a suit to work. It brings order to the workplace. And I like wearing a tie; I think I look smart wearing a tie. When I was younger and we went out as a family to a special function, like a wedding, I always liked the fact that I got to wear a suit & a tie. It made me feel grown up. And my mother always said I looked smart in a suit & tie.

At 6.30am I have my breakfast. A bowl of milk with a cereal of my choice. I usually buy those 8-carton variety packs , so I can have different cereals throughout the week. Today I had Honey Nut Cheerios. I have my breakfast while watching the breakfast news, usually on BBC1. The other channels are too gaudy - especially for that time of the morning. I like the man who presents it - Dermot Murnaghan, but I don't like that lady - she looks like a strumpet. A whore. She gets me really angry. So I turned the television off after a few minutes.

By 7.00pm I leave the house. Today I was a bit late because I had to take the rubbish out though. To get to work I have to take a bus & two trains (or tube journeys, if you prefer). At that time of the morning London is relatively quiet - or at least quieter than it is an hour later. People are moving, but the city has a certain stillness about it. It was raining last night, so the streets were stinking with the smell of damp rubbish and dirt. But the nauseating smell is a welcome distraction from the thoughts in my mind. I like observing other people when I travel to work. This morning, on my train into Kings Cross station I sat opposite a well dressed man with a handsome briefcase. His suit was impeccably tailored, his tie almost as smart as mine. But then I noticed that the man was wearing no socks. I couldn't understand whay a man who had clearly spent time & money (more than I can afford) to be smart, would, or could, be that careless. Not only could I not understand it, I didn't like it. Order is not something that you buy with a £500 suit, it is a state of mind. A way of life. An expensive suit without socks is like organising a lavish party, but forgetting to invite any guests. Smartness without order is wrong. Why don't people understand this.

I arrived at work at 8.30am, which is a little later than I usually get into work, but that was because I had to take the rubbish out this morning. I make allowances for that on a Monday morning. Once I get to my office, I have a cup of coffee & start my day. My job involves checking figures - checking figures that have already been calculated and checked before, by someone else. I'm like a last line in defence against careless mistakes, which I enjoy. Though sometimes I think that my firm would run just as effectively if I wasn't there. But every organisation needs security against disorder, & thats my job.

I worked until 1.00pm, as usual, then I had lunch. On Monday I go to the nearby Chinese restaurant for their special lunch buffet: £6.00 for all you can eat. Chinese food is one of my few vices, but I limit myself to having it once a week because I know it is bad for your heart. I read the newspaper (today the Times, but sometimes the Telegraph if I feel like reading a broadsheet) after my meal, and I get back to the office by 2.00pm. I work untill 5.00pm, and then I disappear, and make my way back to my flat in North London.

As I walked back from my bus stop to my flat dusk was approaching, & all the wasters and deadbeats were slowly congregatinging on the streets, their lifeless squalid faces bringing vomit to the back of my mouth. I entered my appartment building, went upstairs to my flat (I'm on the 3rd floor), and put on my favorite film "Vertigo". I drew the curtains and while watching/listening to the film I began making this entry into my blog. The film finished about 20 minutes ago, but I don't really watch the film anymore anyway because I know it so well. I just enjoy having it on in the background. I think maybe now I'll go to sleep.

Sunday, February 13, 2005

Hello

Hi. My name is David. I'm not much of an internet expert, but I've decided to set up this blog to chronicle my days & my thoughts. Kind of like a personal diary, though maybe people will come across my blog and take time to read about my experiences. Not that there's anything interesting about my experiences. I lead a pretty mundane life - I'm the kind of guy who you see but never notice. But I don't mind that really.

I'm 33 years old & I'm an accountant. The firm where I work at is quite small, but not so small that I can't disappear into the background. The work is pretty low level, and I've been in the same position for the past 6 years. I don't really enjoy my work, but I don't hate it either. It passes the time, occupies my mind. Focussing my brain on mechanical claculations means I don't ever really need to think. And I like that, because sometimes I think so hard my head hurts.

I live alone in a flat in London, UK. The flat itself is not bad, and not too expensive either. But thats probably because the area where I live is a sesspool. Walking through the area at night is like wandering through purgatory - the living dead high on some drug or other, cheap prostitutes hawking themselves like pieces of meat to be consummed, mentally disturbed tramps stumbling through the streets. The place only exists in black & white - there is no colour. And there is no sound. I don't know why I still live here. Maybe because its cheap. Or maybe its because I belong here.