Saturday 4 August 2007

Chained in

I'm on the scrounge for some sympathy so any you have to share would be so very welcome.

Have you ever agreed to something which you wish you could change, with all your heart?

Last week I agreed to help with a TV project that paid extremely well but meant I had to give up an entire weekend. So it's no surprise that on the weekend in which I have to do it, the weather is absolutely incredible.

I've been stuck inside since about 11am this morning. Our offices are quite high up and when I have the opportunity, I wander over to the window to see the following:

London skyline
I was listening to Moby's song Porcelein earlier on the iPod, in my mind I could hear the millions out of the window laughing, playing or out in the park in the sun with friends, enjoying a glass of wine on a picnic blanket with loved ones.

And I'm stuck inside a bloody office.

The following texts have also pinged onto my mobile:

1/ "U coming to Brighton tonight and tom or not?"
2/ "at Innocent thing in Regents park - call if you wanna come"
3/ "oi up for a boozer??"

I couldn't handle it anymore so I've turned the phone off. If I was slightly less depressed I think I'd cry. I don't think Moby's helping my mood either.

The view from the window is not really one that I can see from where I'm working. Infact this is where I've been sat for the last 8 hours:

Shit-hole 1After having been sat there we're going to have to move to here (below) to add some silly effects and whizz-bang things, probably for the whole of Sunday.

Shit-hole 2It's cold, dark, there are no windows and no hot topless blokes playing touch-rugby nearby.

Please tell me that I'm not missing anything by being chained up indoors. Lie if you need to.

The man pushing the buttons next to me thinks I keep putting my head in my hands because earlier I told him I was hungover.

The truth is that I haven't had a drop to drink for days. I keep putting my head in my hands because it feels like I'm about to burst into tears.

If you're ever asked to work on the weekend, no matter how much money is offered, just say no. And if you need to, print this off as a reminder of what could happen if you say otherwise.

Sunday morning EDIT

Last night before going to sleep I paged through my PostSecret book and spotted the following card:

And I thought that I have no excuse to be feigning depression. Somewhere in the world there's someone with far more weighing on their shoulders. I'm thankful it's not me.

Bobby's Dodgy Music Collection CD #6

Because Enya has been around for years her music has so many memories attached to it.

When I'm borderline depressed it's her, Moby and the soundtrack to Memoirs of a Geisha which helps drag me down even further.

3 comments:

chabang said...

It's your own fault for being a media whore - remember though that it's to make up for weekend like this that we get all that gossip :-p


...now i'm off to get some rugby-players to rub sunscreen in to my back. I'll be thinking of you.

Bobby Vanquish said...

Yeah yeah yeah - as those great hunks of spunk tower over you with their rippling muscles and tight buns... it's no wonder you'll be reminded of me. ha!

Sh@ney said...

It's one weekend babe...Try working in an industry where weekend work was compulsory (every weekend) I did it for 2 years & it was torture...But at the end of the day if I wanted to take home a decent wage I had no choice. And when I say weekend work I mean Every Friday & Saturday NIGHT Does that make you feel alittle better...*winks*