One Man's Notes

I really should be at the bank about now.

Slept terribly last night. After a quiet, relaxed weekend with Lorna, my brother threw my life into chaos by asking me to participate in a financial transaction of his. Obviously, no detail here, but it’s something I’m not sure I want to do, but which I probably ought to do. I’m meeting him for a drink and a chat about it tomorrow. It was enough to keep my brain buzzing way past my sensible sleepy time last night, though.

I really should be at the bank, paying in a cheque, right now. But it’s Oxford Street and it may be horrible…

Work is quiet. There’s an argument in progress in the art department, but I’m ignoring that. I’m alternating between writing a feature and trying to understand Microsoft’s Passport and MSN Messenger. Heigh ho.

Oh, bugger it, to the bank I go.

Monday morning. With a sense of dramatic appropriateness, the world has decided to furnish us with a dull, grey day after a night of rain. London came back to work today, and it’s not happy about it. There’s a palpable sense of grimness and the air, and that fact that my nose is full of cold still isn’t helping.

Anther cheery entry to speed you on your way.

The good news is that tomorrow is my two year anniversary with Lorna. She’s still making me a very happy man. Long may it continue.

I’m such a soppy bastard.

Hurrah! A 17k piece of writing filed comfortably on time. Actually, concentrating on the last section of writing and a general revision of the whole piece kept my mind off this evil little bug that still lurks in my system. Now that I’m done, it seems to be dead set on reminding me of its existence. Bleurgh. Maybe I should push on with my next project to keep my mind off it.

Luckily Lorna is on her way over, so we can concentrate on being ill together in front of the video for the time being.

My Mum is scared. She’s heard sounds coming from the loft, and she thinks that it’s mice. She lives in a rural area and mice, rats and other vermin are pretty damn common, so I suppose it’s a possibility. I do think that birds roosting under the eaves for warmth during the sub zero temperatures we’re getting at night at the moment is a much more likely explanation, though.

It’s funny how you hear so many more sounds at night when you live alone. I’m the only one of my family who has any real experience of it. Mark has never lived alone, and Dad never did. I’ve spent the vast majority of the last three years living alone, and have another 18 months or so of solitary living under my belt during my time in this flat. It takes some getting used to, but you are definitely more alert to the smallest noise when you’re on your own. It’s probably just some survival mechanism, an ear for danger that allowed our ancestors to live. Pity it has to cost us the occasional night’s sleep now.

In other news, London remains disturbingly quiet. It’s obvious that the combination of many people still being on holiday and the train strike has kept the usual numbers of commuters, tourists and shoppers out of the city. You know, if London was like this all the time, I might still enjoy living here. instead, experiences like this just harden my determination to get out of London as soon as I can.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a persistent misery guts, so I’m going to start this entry with something good. I awoke this morning to the delightful aroma of fresh bread. My Mum bought me a bread maker for Christmas, and this was the first opportunity I’d had to use it. I put the ingredients (pre-mixed and shop-bought, I’m afraid. I am ill, you know) before I went to bed and set the timer. The result? Lovely fresh bread for breakfast. I couldn’t be happier.

Also on a happy note, Lorna and I dragged ourselves off our sickbeds and went to pick up Zoe (the car) yesterday. It took us two trips to get the battery out and the new one in, due to a lack of the correct tools. We then had a nail-biting ride through the rush hour, hoping that we got home before the battery gave out. We made it. Zoe is now in John’s tender hands, having a new alternator fitted. It’s handy living next door to a garage sometimes.

I’m back at work today, powered by the might of Lemsip and I might just make it through to the meeting I have this afternoon. Hurrah!

2002 was going to be the year things got better. Admittedly, 2001 was only really bad in one big and very specific way, but 2002 was going to be better. We’re now, what, just over 40 hours into the new year, and it has already been an unmitigated disaster. Let me present my case for this assessment:

1. At the stroke of midnight, the start of the New Year, my girlfriend and I were in bed. Separately. At her Mum's place. We should have been at a party not terribly far away, but her cold was now so bad that there wasn't any hope of her being able to go. She and her Mum went to bed early.

2. On New Year's Day, the car broke down as we were driving up the M4. After an hour and a half shivering by the side of the road, the AA man turned up. An hour later he told us that the car was screwed and that we'd need to be towed. The tow truck would take six hours to arrive. We'd have frozen to death in that time. In the end, we bought a new battery off his as a temporary fix and gambled on getting home. We nearly made it. We had to abandon the car outside a pub and get a taxi home. We're going back for it with a new battery tonight.

3. Lorna's grandad has just been hospitalized.

What fun!

Well, the speech is done, and Prince Charles turned out to be witty, thoughtful and not a little controversial. I’ve bashed out a story on the speech and e-mailed it to the news editor, not that he’s answering his phone right now. Bloody reporters.

Ah, I’m really in the middle of an American tourist’s wet dream right now. I’ve just been watching a member of the Royal Family speak, and am now sat in a room with a superb view over London. listening to Big Ben chiming and looking at Westminster Abbey as darkness falls.

I suppose I’d better call the news editor again.