Thoughts For the Day: The Journey to Work

From Coco-Pops to Victoria Principal, all sorts of weird stuff pops into my head as I trudge to work...
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It’s been 18 days.

I don’t believe we’re done yet.

I really should wear my hat in this rain but I’ve just spent 10 minutes doing my hair.

These K-Swiss looked the business in 2007. I wish you knew me back in ’07.

Why did I need to make my day any harder by wearing these tight briefs? Why haven’t I thrown them out? I have the money to replace them. Why am I like this?

Another day at work. Fucking hell.

I think I ought to give the coco pops a break tomorrow. If only because I’m not 8-years old.

I need to get that duvet back to my aunt’s.

And shoes. I need to get those new shoes.

I don’t think the Sales Assistant in Next believed I could afford those £70 shoes I held for 5 minutes yesterday.

This rain would’ve come through the roof of the old house.

I’m not sure I’ve seen anything better than the swimwear shots of Victoria Principal on the early seasons of Dallas.

Mum was always troubled by the simultaneous ‘cors’ that emanated from me and Dad whenever those Pam Ewing swimwear shots came on the TV.

If I’d played Subbuteo on a table, as it was meant to be played, instead of hunched on the floor, I wouldn’t have these back issues.

Does wearing 2 pairs of socks really help my arthritis?

Did I clear every tissue from the front room? And if I didn’t, was I sniffing enough last night in front of my friends to convince them any tissues found might come from me blowing my nose?

I have that same problem that man sat opposite me on the train has, but with my corduroys.

Has no corduroy designer ever raised the ‘hernia crotch’ issue at a meeting?

Nearly everyone who called me Danny is now dead.

Maybe it was my refusal to sleep under less than 2 duvets that drove Latin America away?

Mum was always troubled by the simultaneous ‘cors’ that emanated from me and Dad whenever those Pam Ewing swimwear shots came on the TV.

Latin America called me Danny, but spelt it with an ‘i’ at the end, the Spanish way. I liked that.

To be fair to dad, his hairstyles of the early eighties were no worse than those of the average 38-year-old man of the time.

Did I put yesterday’s boxers in the laundry bag?

My scarf feels a little hard. How can I ask my hosts if they use softener without offending them?

Finding it awkward having a manager set opposite me.

Am only snatching bites of my morning almond croissant whenever they’re away from their desk.

Dress Down Friday. I don’t like this.

This is where you see who’s on a good salary, who’s still living at home and can lavish money on clothes.

I don’t dress well. I recognise that. But I smell good.

I just need to build on this good smell thing I got going on.

Do I work my way up from the feet up or begin with the torso and invest in some new shirts?

The problem with sitting down on the tube is you end up having men’s groins in your face.

Lots of denim clad groins this morning. Dress Down Friday’s breaking out of every office.

Accept that she’s gone.

Man sat next to me making notes on his HTC Wildfire.

Not me. This is all pen and paper mate. Old skool.

I wish I didn’t miss her as bad as this.

I would’ve made a great dad to her kids. Well, not her kids. Our kids. I wouldn’t take on somebody else’s kids. Our kids. The kids we’d have had together. She knows that.

The man has unusually small fingernails.

Don’t use as much milk with my first coffee. I never finish it so save it for later.

Has she really walked away? Does she understand that all the good things we did together, we won’t do again?

Okay, if my hosts pull me up on the tissue, deny all knowledge. Blame the boy.

Hear Daniel Ruiz Tizon’s latest ‘Please Don’t Hug Me’ podcast here:RSS iTunes

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