DREAM: 16th January

I was watching some Questions and Answers type panel show and the topic of discussion was aliens and the supernatural. Two people were adamant in the existence of both while Chris Morris was giving glib surreal answers which seemed to heighten the absurdity of the occasion.

DAY: 17th January

Desperately Seeking Putin - idea for sitcom.
See a paint splattered inverted Impressionist builder holding a bread roll of cholesterol and a tabloid paper like a sick tongue lolling from his armpit in Tesco. Splashed on the front page is a picture of Kim Kardashian in a low cut top, it's almost like the picture was taken from space. It's that tasteful. Attention is their oxygen. Take that away and they die. What will she leave behind? Donate her breasts to Michelin.
On the tube to work. Pretty girl in the distance is weaving her hands through her hair. From the corner of my eye it looks like wheelchair bound Tai Chi or Capoeira. Or just fighting off metaphysical bees.
See a poster for hair removal. 39 quid. Mother Nature and Time is my hair remover and its free. I win. For now.
Man beside me is smiling incessantly. Unsettling. His smile seems otherworldly, like St. Peter at the Gates of Insanity is waving his knob around, coaxing him in.
Girl to my left is wearing a fur hat. Looks like she is either falling down the arse of a tiger or pushing her head out for air. Fur hair.
Man still smiling. Maybe he's happy. Maybe he's on his way to the hospital to embrace his new born son. Maybe I am just projecting my own cynicism?
Man reading the jobs section in the Law Gazette. Picture of a jockey in a speeding chariot. The chariot has spinning Pimp My Ride wheels with rims. The title of the picture says " Crims on Rims."
Man with folded arms and nosy eyes, watches every movement of this Gazette reading man. So do I but from a purely sociological perspective. M'Lord.
"Judicial Diversity group fails to meet"
Bump my head on the way out of the train. Like a character from The Remains of the Day trapped in an Akon video.
See a unfashionable girl read a fashionable magazine as the train pulls away.
Joke with a fellow employee about how the hot dog meat is most probably extracted from the elbow of ducks.
Talked to a really friendly girl from Kent. We share our stories and journeys, how we managed to find ourselves here in this room, at this point in time. She used to work as a managerial assistant in a trendy bar where she availed of the copious free flowing alcohol. She quoted George Best. We talked about Bukowski and how he paints a picture of alcoholism that seems almost noble, a coping mechanism to take the edge off the absurdity of people and the world. I mention I'm a vegetarian and that I'm not a vegan. I don't lick stones to survive.
We talk about yoga. I tell her how I deal with people that give me grief over it. I tell them I'm not doing yoga for spiritual purposes, I purely do it so I can live long enough to attend their funeral. How I will interrupt the weeping widow during her speech and ask the congregation " Does anyone fancy anything from Tesco?" Thereupon I will return with a shopping bag of Choc Ices and sporting a sombrero. In the foyer, I will then do a voluntary interpretative dance about his illness which will climax in a headstand in the shape of a cigarette as a tribute and warning to the remaining few. Maybe this is what goes through all the fitness fanatics heads? A long life is the greatest revenge. Especially if that life was purposefully boring and uneventful.