12 February 2012

Live Work & Play


12 February 1988
27 years old
Living in London
Read my ‘Marxism Today’ on the bus into work. Sunny, felt cheery. I’m honestly OK during the day. I really enjoy my work. Ant is such a dag I’m always laughing. Hil’s nice, Deb is great. And Fiona and Collette and even Spot and Debra, Bob and Aussie David next door, are nice to deal with every day.
My vagueness came to the fore in a big way today. For over a week, K, A and I planned to go to The Crypt tonight to see The Sound Asleep. An hour or so before they were due here, I realised I got the date wrong. The gig happened last Friday. I rang K who was slightly relieved though disappointed. A was already on her way. So we ended up at the pub with Candy et al. Not before I sprayed my hair with deodorant.
We went to The Crystal Palace Pub, which is where I last saw Tony, on the last day of last year. Met Giles and Irene there, also Teresa and Huw, chatted to Irene, then Can and A. Tried not to think of T too much, but I did a bit.
At home I polished up my poem, had thought about it on the bus home too. In bed I cried again, perhaps it’s the looming of St Valentine’s Day.

4 comments:

  1. Aw thanks! Was a fun time. Spot-next-door - wonder where he is now? We ddn't name him Spot did we? He was Bob's apprentice as I recall - straight out of college, a bit awkward, ever willing to help under a laddish exterior. Bob had a lot of staff then didn't he? Collette was running the old Compugraphic typesetting machine (they've got one in the Science museum now!). Seems like a long time ago.

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  2. I was hoping you were reading today!

    It was a fun time. Spot, as I recall had been named well before I got there, presumably by Bob. He was very young, and I think hadn't been to college, just learned on the job - uncommon now days.

    How interesting about the Compugraphic machine, a relic of the past. We all do our own typesetting now.

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  3. I used a Compugraphic in my first job after college, before the company switched to Macs. Not fun... The chemicals leaking from the machine into the old carpet scared us low-wage publication serfs.

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