Heading to gym although I have a feeling this could all end in tears. Metaphorically speaking.
Running and RuPaul and thumping in my ears. This is a consequence of last night.
The RuPaul + Gomi Ultimix remix of "Looking Good, Feeling Gorgeous" is perfect for running with a chronic hangover.
RuPaul asks "how do I look?" The chorus sing; "you look good."
RuPaul asks "how do I feel?" The chorus sing "you feel good... you're looking good and feeling gorgeous."
I've managed to run for nearly 30 minutes. I am drenched in sweat which is probably 90% proof.
I really need to stop doing that. Binge drinking I mean.
There is nothing more sweet and pure than an ice-cold chocolate protein shake. Gimme. Give. Me.
The best cure for hangover is to sweat it out and drink very cold protein shakes. And sugar-free Red Bull too.
Although I think that it probably causes your liver and kidneys to quietly weep.
I have such a terrible relationship with alcohol.
I can go for weeks without a drop and then, like yesterday afternoon, I have one G&T and suddenly it's midnight and I'm sitting on the couch having caned at least seven other G&Ts before getting home and sinking another bottle of Merlot and starting on the Scotch because there's fuck-all else in the house.
You sit and drink it as though there was a bath full of alcohol and you've sank your head beneath the surface to take in as much as possible.
It's odd because ultimately it makes you feel so completely shit the next day. But you can't stop yourself.
"The chief reason for drinking is the desire to behave in a certain way, and to be able to blame it on alcohol."
I am on the phone to the man from NatWest and we're having a robust conversation because the bank has found it necessary to charge me £28 for going less than £1 overdrawn.
I am using common sense as an argument: "charges are supposed to be a proportionate penalty - this is not."
He is simply reading off a screen... "NatWest details the list of charges on accounts, as published in the terms and conditions when you first opened the account, if you would like, I can send you out a copy of these..."
I stop him.
"Mate, please just stop. Stop.
I cannot listen to you and to this anymore. You know what? You can take that £28 charge you have levied and I hope you choke on it."
(And very quickly you get a sense of what you sound like and it makes you just think, 'I actually don't give a flying fuck what this idiot thinks and if some toss-pot from NatWest thinks I'm a freakshow then I shall wear the badge as a mark of honour'...)
So I start...
"Mate - you can sit there and read the rules off the bank off a screen to me. After this phone conversation I will put the phone down and I will continue with my life - one that is actually pretty good.
"The issue is actually not the money. I earn a lot of money as you can see and £28 means one less meal out for me. It's more a matter of principle.
"After this my life will continue - I will go out later in sit in the sun and listen to music. I will plan holidays to take, parties to go to.
"But you will still be working for NatWest - probably the most despised company in Britain at the moment.
"Imagine how your parents must feel... they brought you into this world - they had hopes for you - they had dreams of what their son could achieve and all you have managed to do in this life is get a job sitting in a warehouse in Bristol, reading off a computer screen on behalf of a bank that nobody likes.
He cuts in; "excuse me Mr Bobby Cox but I don't have to listen to this and I am going to terminate the call."
"No mate. The only reason you want to put the phone down is because we both know that I am right.
"You will end the call and you will sit there all alone - you will look at the pond life that passes for colleagues around you and think "bloody hell, that guy was right - I am a failure. Is sitting in a banking call centre all that I managed to do with my life?"
"I'm sorry but I am going to put the phone down."
"You can put the phone down but you're not going to be able to stop thinking about what I've said."
There is silence. I put a smile in my voice and very calmly say "good-bye now."
Although there is silence I can hear he hasn't put the phone down. But after about 3 seconds the line goes dead.
I am sure that I got to him. There is a line in the Art of War - a book you should read - that says "exploit the dynamic within, develop it without."
I've worked in a call centre and as much as it can be a laugh, no-one ultimately wants to be reminded that they work in a warehouse having to be nice to people all day.
Fuck him. If he wants to work for a bank that's happy to treat people like shit, then I will reciprocate.
Sitting on the couch thinking.
All those things I said to that guy at NatWest, I could have said them to myself. And the words would have meant something.
I get disgusted, appalled, irritated, annoyed and upset with other people.
Why do they not walk fast enough on the pavement?
Why can they not walk in a fucking straight line?
Why do they stop at the top of the fucking escalator?
Why do they run on the treadmill right next to me?
Why do they not fucking respond to my email?
Why do they fucking waste time at the ATM by talking on the phone?
How can they believe everything they read in the fucking newspaper?
Why don't the check-out people in Sainsbury's do it a little quicker?
Why do they ask me if I want a fucking bag when it's quite obvious I need a fucking plastic bag?
Maybe this anger, irritation and frustration I feel is not towards anyone else but instead towards myself?
Is this really all I have managed to achieve with my life?
Nothing much else happens.
Nothing at all.