If i were a German...

It was a dull grey morning in London.

It was THIS dull grey morning in London, and all was..is...well....dull. I'm sure it is all very exciting somewhere in the country.

Somewhere, a slack jawed youth with an unfathomably twisted mind, plunging inexorably downward into the depths of an ever darkening emotional state of the blues is caressing his fathers blunderbuss with menacing intent.

I however am content in my office, twitching, barking and occasionally dozing off in the 10 yard space that i can brand my very own. 'I'll put an open jar of pickles there if i so wish damn you, that bit's still my desk!'.

I read this morning of the shootings in a school in Germany. It made me feel uneasy, as if there were a madness floating indiscriminately around and could land at any moment....

Then suddenly from the foggy morning silence that rests upon the office, muffling acceptance of the rawness of the start of a working day...a shrill test of my credentials as a lunatic:

'I saw Watchmen last week.' States the ghoulish pissant who sits behind me.

'Is it good?' One of her foul culturally famished behavioural conformist associates, bleated in instinctual response.

'It was, but there was too much of the comic book in the film, it was too long, they copied it too directly from the comic'.

'Have you read the book then?'

'No.'

..................................

Is this the moment when I rise suddenly from my chair and begin firing, all of the worlds contradictions, disappointments and mundane vapid waste of potential, channelling through my veins into the pump action shot gun and onward, delivering armageddon to the infidels? Is it?

No.

The woolly headed fools have wrapped my tormented soul in a cotton wool, muffing all and any independent thought.

What a relief, I must be sane...

Daily Chore.

Directly in front of me is a pot plant.

I am sitting at my computer in the office that i work in, pulling a 'work' face and occasionally reaching for the phone, lifting the handset, dialing, replacing the handset, then mumbling faux frustration at the lack of repsonse from my intended conversation reciepient. It's unsurprising that there was a limited response as I have just phoned my own answering machine.

The pot plant is in a similar predicament to myself and i can't help feeling a kinship with it. There is something evocative about the way that it's wilting brown tipped leaves scream both neglect and loneliness. The top of the plant is clawing at a thin stip of window, a window so slight as to implicate that one might fire arrows out of it at bewildered passers by.

I might fire arrows out of it at bewlidered passers by, if only for the cheap thrill of the inevtiable arrest.

Behind me a group of 20 something females who work on an events team are discussing what their respective boyfriends did for valentines day. This began as an exploration into each others boyfriends valentine spend, presumably in the form of a competition with egotistical pretentions but now they seem to have caught themselves off guard as the potential to take the results home and berate the unfortunate love interest with the results dawns slowly upon them.

It's like watching the sun rise, but when the day ahead has already been pre-determined as a horrible nightmare. Slow, inevitable, enlightening and soul crushing.

The pot plant looks like someone built a concrete jungle on top of a forest and preserved the plant to placate some sandle wearing Green Peace hippies who might make a fuss.

Just behind the pot plant a man with the social skills of a loaf of stale bread is standing roughly 3 inches from a more junior member of staffs face bleating football facts at him. The junior member of staff did not ask, why he is being told is beyond even the most enthused of the work drones surrounding them. The taught desperate smile of politeness plastered all over this unfortunates face literally screams, 'Leave me alone, why is your breath so bad? let me stare blankly at my computer screen, what the hell are you talking about?'.

Soon it will be over and he can sink back into 3 more hours of mind numbing silence.

It is said that each google search uses the same amount of energy as boiling a kettle. I boil 89,435 kettles a day on average and am singlehandedly buringing a new hole in the ozone layer so that i can one day escape through it.


There is a picture of Peter Sutcliffe that i have identified on google images. For the next 15 minutes i plan to muse on how best to include it in an office round Robin to guarantee my sacking....