Wednesday 20/5

After eight days of working 9-5, I am finally ready for retirement. So if someone can offer me a £1.4m pension (like Michael Martin, the ex-Speaker of the House) that would be very nice thank you very much. I struggle to find time and energy for the gym after work and I’m not crazy enough to go at 6am before work. Also, I have to postpone my therapy sessions because I’ve been told I’m not allowed time off work for the next 5 weeks or so.

I’m now in my new flat with my new flatmate Tim and I’ve discovered Tim is a lad’s lad. And I love this very much. He drinks beer, talks about football, and doesn't smell. My old Stupid Flatmate drinks cheap cider, plays geeky games, and smells.

And on my way to work, I frequently come across this boy on my walk to work:

He’s so hot and fit, and on his bag I saw ‘Canterbury’ which is a rugby brand and I love him even more.

So today I was offered a brief one-hour respite from this thing called work, and during this brief one-hour respite people would usually eat lunch, and I considered joining my work mates. But obviously I don’t because I don’t have any cash and was sick of being in that building.

Here is my outfit for that day:

Sorry if I've not been posting regularly. I don't have internet and have to steal my neighbour's WiFi, but he's not that considerate so he doesn't leave it on (and unlocked) 24/7. The bastard.

Tuesday 12/5

So you may have heard, I am now working. Working for a company that deals with banking, or perhaps trying to placate irate customers, or perhaps I've not yet been exposed to the evil side of the business, but who knows. What I do know is that I have less and less time for myself and to write blogs so I'm posting this from the future which means that

Friday 08/5

I started my day early, about 0400 because I had a dream. And in this dream I went to the cash machine and it wouldn't let me withdraw any money and the dreaded words "Insufficient funds" flashed across the screen. I pressed the button to check my balance and it said "£18 remaining".

At this point I woke up and had trouble going back to sleep because I can't sleep after having a nightmare.

Then at 0941 the following email exchange occurs between me and Brent:

Me: I seem to have made a mistake

Brent: With?

Me: I have put on Britney Spears, and now I am singing along to it. BUT I DON'T WANT TO.

Brent: Haha, I wanna see britney again!!!

This leads us nicely into the next highlight about the time I saw Britney Spears in a dingy club in Maidenhead last week. Now this club isn't your average club. No, it's worse than that. It's the club where you would take your girlfriend if you want to breakup with her after she informs you that she is 2 months pregnant with your baby.

Anyway at this amazing club, we find that we have stumbled upon a Britney Tribute Night. I was expecting a shitty act, but oh no. Run down clubs don't do things shittilly. They got the best Britney Spears impersonator ever (I've not seen one before) and she was good. So good that I start to believe that it is actually Britney especially when she said, "It's Britney, bitch".

I felt like I've been transported to an intimate gig with Britney just for her most loyal fans (me).

So anyway, she had two backup dancers with her, and I must describe them because I think they are essential to the story. One is thin and ugly, and the other is OK and fat.

• Thin and Ugly (T&U): She's an average dancer, probably a single mum who's been forced to reek out an existence by dancing for a glamorous woman (Britney). She hates Britney, but does whatever it takes to keep her job, including walking the dog (Fifi), wearing a see-through top, and learning how to play poker on long trips on their tour bus (they only do the Home Counties). But T&U is learning to accept that it's Fate which has brought her to this point in life despite her protestations, and Fate will not allow even the slightest deviation from it's carefully laid-out (some say obsessively laid-out) plans.
• OK and Fat (OK&F): OK&F is what it says on the tin. She's OK-looking but is unfortunately fat, due to her fondness of pick-and-mix. She knows that she is a good dancer and harbours ambition to join the cast of Mamma Mia but she knows she needs some exposure to the wider world. These include: learning how to hump a woman, learning how to fondle a woman's boobs, learning how to lap dance, learning how to expose your fat arse to crowds of horny baying men, and learning how to dance provocatively like she has no morals whatsoever. These are all true because these events did really happen. I was, of course, shocked at her blatant display of feminine flamboyance because I am conservative. She should only do this for me and not for other men.

(click for bigger images)

Anyway, I have some news. And this news is that I am now employed as of Monday. This is a temporary position (contract) with a bank. But I am not sure about this, simply because I am unsure of anything anymore. If we look at this in the usual cost-benefit analysis of an economist (because I have spent the last four years learning how to be an economist but as Fate would have it, I am not one. Yet.):

Cost: No more free time, No more going to the gym in the morning and meeting Greek God, not being able to marry Greek God and have his kids, clashes with me moving flats, not being able to go down to London on the 20th (I had a trip planned already), less time to apply for proper permanent jobs.

Benefit: I have a job, I will get money, I will have something to do during the day instead of the usual "fuck all", I will have some semblance of normality because routine is normality in my opinion.

See, the costs outweigh the benefits, but I suppose I need to attach weights to each of the attributes (which I have not done) and because attaching weights is so subjective, I may be stuck doing this a long time so I might as well take this job.

Thursday 07/4

And today is Thursday, and on this Thursday I feel worse than all other days, not because of my depression because I have learnt to accept it and that the escitalopram is working wonders, but because I have been struck down with a combination of the plague and swine flu. I suppose I must point out that my doctor doesn't think it's really swine flu because I have never been to Mexico, but consider the evidence:

• I spent 1 week in London. Now we all know that London's Underground is a hotbed for diseases, and with 2.95 million people riding it everyday, that's approximately 39.27% of the Greater London population. And there is always a chance that at least one of those 2.95 million people a day will have swine flu because there are people in South London who are infected with it. And they will have infected me too.
• I came into contact with Spanish people. We know that Mexicans speak Spanish, and Spanish people speak Spanish.

Anyway last night at 2130 I was ready to go to bed because I was tired of being ill, and we know that when you sleep you tend to forget your troubles. So instead of taking my traditional shower before bed (because I like being clean) I just washed my face and brushed my teeth. But at 2148 I hear the dreaded doorbell, and Stupid Flatmate's friend (and my mutual friend) came up. Let's call him Claudio.

I heard Claudio say, so what are we going to do for 10 minutes? I like Claudio, he's easy to get along with, and he clearly knows that I want to go to bed at 2200. But unfortunately he has to be good friends with Stupid Flatmate and Stupid Flatmate says something which causes them to play together on the xbox.

So I get angry and contemplate having a panic attack (I rule it out because they wouldn't notice) or perhaps an uncontrolled screaming rage at them (I ruled this out too because I am ill and cannot punch anyone), but instead at 2215 I go to the bathroom, making sure they heard me, waited 2 minutes, then came out again and said, "Please guys, can I go to bed? I am ill and I need sleep".

Stupid Flatmate: Hmm really?? [he frowns]

Me: Please [I beg]

Then I went into my room but I hear Stupid Flatmate grumble to Claudio (my walls are thin) and after faffing about for 10 minutes they leave.

Today I am still ill so I take a combination of ibuprofen (1200mg), vitamin C with Bioflavonoids (1500mg), and caffeine (100mg). Obviously this is in addition to my daily routine of propranolol hydrochloride (80mg) and escitalopram (now 10mg).

I have confined myself to my flat during the morning, and being bored as fuck, I log on to gaydar and manhunt, get bored, listen to Götterdämmerung, get depressed (as much as my anti-depressant will allow me), eat some Thorntons chocolates, feel guilty (because I cannot exercise when I'm ill) then go take a photo of myself to make sure that I can see bits of my abs.

So I go eat one more chocolate.

Then I decided I needed a shower, and whilst having this shower, I hear my computer making a sound indicating that a new email has arrived. I've been waiting for an email from this company for which I had interviewed last week, and suddenly this fear gripped me whilst hot water pours down on me. It was like a net just tightened around my chest and gripped my throat and things began to blur and I saw black and I closed my eyes really tight. And a thought flashed through my tortured mind, and this thought was that it would be nice if someone shot me right now through the head but then I realised that it was a suicidal thought and think perhaps the the anti-depressant isn't working, but suddenly those thoughts are gone and I get dressed and check my emails only to find out it was an email from Twitter.

....

I also decide that I want to infect Stupid Flatmate with my virus and solicited suggestions from Twitter. Most common was: cough on his toothbrush. So I did that. I also coughed on his keyboard and mouse and on his door handles and made sure some particles of saliva came out. I must mention that I was very pleased that some mucus came out when I was hard at work coughing on his door handles. Normally I'd be very disgusted at this but this time I smeared it liberally over his door handles and I know for certain that he will get infected. Or at least I hope so.

I wasn't sure if it would be better to cough up saliva or phlegm, so I texted my pharmacist friend: What's the best way to transfer the flu virus to someone? Perhaps via saliva or mucus? Which is more effective, and how long will a virus stay 'live'?

No reply yet.

Wednesday 06/5

Last week was spent in London, Birmingham, and Maidenhead.

I won't say much about what happened in London/Birmingham except that it's for a job interview. Also, I managed to meet have coffee with James from Twitter, and he is totally hot, and he was going to take me to XXL on Thursday but unfortunately he had things to do on a Friday morning.

On Thursday afternoon I decide to step into the sunlight at Old Bond Street and wondered the aisles of HMV. And for this trip I wear my ____ cream-coloured khakis, Fred Perry shoes (which also doubles up as my gym shoes), and a green American Eagle polo shirt. At HMV I ponder buying a CD but a smelly man next to me put me off so I decided to walk towards Grosvener Square.

For anyone who's not British (even those who are British) who's not heard of the Grosvenor family, they own most of Mayfair and Belgravia.

Anyway, I walk past the American Embassy and saw a man in a jogger's outfit strolling with giant headphones and smoking a cigar. How fucking classy is that?

I must add that at this point I felt a great need to take a piss but I was determined to hold it so that I can piss in the toilets at Harrods, a 15-minute walk away. I made this trip successfully and in the process I saw a lot of hot boys working in Harrods offering anyone who would stop a squirt of their perfume. Obviously I stopped for one particularly hot one (but the perfume was awful—it was something by Ferrari).

Then I bought a chicken escalope wrap and ate it at Hyde Park, making sure to position myself close to some hot builders.

Next I walked past the back of the Queen's house (sadly she wasn't there to invite me in) and popped into this amazing shop in Belgravia called the Chocolate Society. I think this is one of my top favourite shops. And I want to live in Belgravia. Everyone is so preppy much to my delight.

Other things which I did in London (not necessary in order):

• Met up with Si
• Went to that gay ____ ____ gym in Oxford Circus / Soho where Aussiebums were the required uniform.
• Went to A&F against my better judgement because they only hire perfect male specimens and they make you feel so inferior. But they were so hot. I thought of buying a shirt because I saw someone at a shitty club in Maidenhead wear an A&F shirt tucked into his tight jeans (more on this later) which I thought was so hot. So to emulate him I needed that shirt, but sadly it costs £70 and we all know that I am unemployed.
• Went to the Tate and was confronted with a huge expanse of emptiness and I liked it very much so I took a picture:

I'll write up the trip to Maidenhead tomorrow. I need to go to bed now because I have swine flu. [sad smiley]

Tuesday 05/5

First, I spent the whole week in London and soon I'll write up what happened there.

Anyway today I get back from London and I am greeted by this sight:

This is of course Stupid Flatmate's handiwork because I've been in London all week. I am not pleased to be back, but I am incapable of feeling sad / depressed so I guess it doesn't matter innit.

Oh, and the protein powder's mine.

Then I go to the gym and see Greek God and his rugby mate and I am happy again.