Monday, July 21, 2008
2.
I should have twigged right of when I got home that something wasn’t right, but I didn’t. Outwardly everything appeared normal. I’d left the milk on the step for the magpies to devour, as normal, and the front door was practically barricaded shut under the sheer weight of charity clothing bags and pizza menu’s that had been shovelled through my letterbox. I remember sensing something briefly; I couldn’t put my finger on it and was quickly distracted by the urge to turn Noel Edmonds off the television before I became unexplainably hooked to Deal or No Deal and kissed goodbye to the next hour of my life.
The warm afternoon sun surged painfully through the half moon, stained window of the front door bathing the hallway in a warm balmy glow. Though an old Victorian terrace the front door belied the large spacious interior hidden beyond. I’d bought the place three years ago for its redevelopment potential. I’d seen too many morning makeover shows, though it still had the potential. Knowing Scullard was on the warpath for my reports I turned to the computer to see what new assignments I’d been blessed with. There were the usual deadline warnings I’d set myself, reminders, invitations to take out loans that I could never pay off even if I had the life span of a giant tortoise, a new e-mail off Sophie and a lead to interview an old lady from Birkdale Road who had painstakingly clipped her hedge into the shape of a cockerel. Not the most fascinating journalism in the world but at least I had an interesting headline in mind! I decided to read Sophie’s first. I was insanely optimistic it may have bee some heartfelt outpouring of her hidden feelings toward me sent in a moment of drunken sincerity. Predictably it was as soul destroyingly work related as ever, helpfully reminding me of the bi-monthly team meeting next week. I decided to shy away from the rest of the work mails noticing instead that my mate, drinking buddy and pulling pal Jez had mailed me. Jez, and I had been mates since school. His life had gradually spiralled down hill since leaving college gravitating from one awful job to the next, unable to find a girlfriend and now stuck in a sorry, shameful rut of fast food, drink and internet pornography. He was the one thing in life that made me feel good about myself! The mail was confusing, even for Jez. It suggested a night of drink-fuelled madness the previous evening, which had culminated in a barring from whatever pub we had supposedly disgraced ourselves in and a black eye. I decided not to play along and text him to meet up as tonight was our usual mid-week drinking evening. The Coach and Horse for the pub quiz, a few rounds of light ales and a watchful eye for ladies of a certain temperament.
I should have twigged right of when I got home that something wasn’t right, but I didn’t. Outwardly everything appeared normal. I’d left the milk on the step for the magpies to devour, as normal, and the front door was practically barricaded shut under the sheer weight of charity clothing bags and pizza menu’s that had been shovelled through my letterbox. I remember sensing something briefly; I couldn’t put my finger on it and was quickly distracted by the urge to turn Noel Edmonds off the television before I became unexplainably hooked to Deal or No Deal and kissed goodbye to the next hour of my life.
The warm afternoon sun surged painfully through the half moon, stained window of the front door bathing the hallway in a warm balmy glow. Though an old Victorian terrace the front door belied the large spacious interior hidden beyond. I’d bought the place three years ago for its redevelopment potential. I’d seen too many morning makeover shows, though it still had the potential. Knowing Scullard was on the warpath for my reports I turned to the computer to see what new assignments I’d been blessed with. There were the usual deadline warnings I’d set myself, reminders, invitations to take out loans that I could never pay off even if I had the life span of a giant tortoise, a new e-mail off Sophie and a lead to interview an old lady from Birkdale Road who had painstakingly clipped her hedge into the shape of a cockerel. Not the most fascinating journalism in the world but at least I had an interesting headline in mind! I decided to read Sophie’s first. I was insanely optimistic it may have bee some heartfelt outpouring of her hidden feelings toward me sent in a moment of drunken sincerity. Predictably it was as soul destroyingly work related as ever, helpfully reminding me of the bi-monthly team meeting next week. I decided to shy away from the rest of the work mails noticing instead that my mate, drinking buddy and pulling pal Jez had mailed me. Jez, and I had been mates since school. His life had gradually spiralled down hill since leaving college gravitating from one awful job to the next, unable to find a girlfriend and now stuck in a sorry, shameful rut of fast food, drink and internet pornography. He was the one thing in life that made me feel good about myself! The mail was confusing, even for Jez. It suggested a night of drink-fuelled madness the previous evening, which had culminated in a barring from whatever pub we had supposedly disgraced ourselves in and a black eye. I decided not to play along and text him to meet up as tonight was our usual mid-week drinking evening. The Coach and Horse for the pub quiz, a few rounds of light ales and a watchful eye for ladies of a certain temperament.
# posted by aworthlessexistence @ 12:23 PM 
