A day at the new job: consisting mainly of standing around in uncomfortable shoes. Lots of standing with my weight on the left foot, until the left foot can bear it now more. And then for a change, shifting the weight to the right foot, maintaining position, and then finding solace in the nearest leaning point. Against the counter, against the door, against the blah, god what a boring day. The downside of a long boring day, besides the obvious, is the resultant short boring blog. I’m sorry dear reader, but there is nothing I can do about that. No free moments in the morning, and the evening is home>fish&chips>bed>blog; a thoroughly idea free day. I suppose I could make something up. In fact I have no other choice. In the car earlier, with my girlfriend who works at the same place, I set a rule: no talking about work at home. It’s ok to vent a bit in the car, but once we are home work is gone. And here I am muttering to my keyboard about it, in the most trivial and non-specific manner. I have run roughshod over my rule, setting a bad example and a dangerous precedent.
I’ve been desperately trawling news stories on the internet in a flailing attempt to find some material; a little something to spark a heated debate with myself, and hammering out a few hundred words in the process. Nothing is really grabbing my attention. At least nothing useful. As I try to read an article about a gang of computer hackers who have stolen £6m from UK bank accounts, I find myself staring slack-jawed an unrelated image of a love heart constructed from glowing LEDs. It has such a bright pure white centre, surrounded by a corona of electric blue... I can’t stop staring at it. It drags the eye to it from any part of the page, and as a result I am never going to find out any details about the fraudulent cyber-thieves.
Every story I happen across seems to bore me; I am suffering from terminal boredom and, be careful, it is contagious. Even news of four nine-year olds being suspended from school for possessing, and possibly selling (in 50p bags!), cannabis, fails to arouse my interest. And the one about the woman who got off the train and stood on the track forcing it to be cancelled in protest against a group of abusive football fans, and the driver’s refusal to do anything about it. Although it does remind me of a similar incident I experience on a late train from Manchester to Lancaster where some Manchester United fans were chanting hideous racial abuse at two young ladies, and my pathetic fear of getting telling them to shut the fuck up. Maybe I’ll retell that story in the blog one day, but now isn’t the time.