The One-Day Diary of a Sleepyhead
Still sleepy as hell this morning, and I appear to have caught a tummy bug, as my stomach
seems to be intent on stabbing it's way out of my abdomen. I wonder if the various foods
that people have cooked for me this week has poisoned me. Maybe Joe and Katherine
want me out of the way for some diabolical reason. I expect they plan to team up and
conquer the world, and have realized only I, with my foam arms/tentacles, can stop them. I
will fight on for the good of humanity, and I expect only vast riches and absolute power as
my reward.
Dug has still yet to decide on a costume, and was haranguing me for my lack of Doc Ock
costume progress. I have decided to kill him and replace him with a life like robot, or
Dugbot. Dugbot will be my mechanical slave, and will now play no music but Oasis. Just to
really annoy him. No one has noticed the difference between Dug and my slow-witted
automaton yet. I expect they never will.
Helen's last day today, so I sent her a load of quizzes to make sure she does no work on
her last day. Here's the rub - I've done all the easy ones. HaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa
Haaarrgh! She will be disappointed. Maybe she will try to muscle in on the 'death to Steve'
thing that's going on. I'll take all three of them down. Down town. Down to Chinatown.
Downtown to Upside-down Chinatown and make them wear a brown frown. In a gown.
Have you ever tried to find missing links between payments and their origins? It's kind of
exciting in a not very exciting kind of way. I've had a warmed up ham sandwich for
breakfast, and I watched Stella Street last night. Very funny in small doses, but kind of 'I
wish I was awake enough to turn this off' in anything over 25 minutes.
I have managed to investigate four of my eight payments. Nothing too good is coming of
my investigations, but I am making lots of mess, a few connections and a steaming great
heap of paperwork.
The Fearful Four appear to have got to your E-mails. Or is it the Fearful Five? Katherine,
Joe, Adrian Helen and ... YOU! No Abba style anagrams to play with, apart from maybe
JAHNK. Is it true? Is JAHNK after me? Well fine, my tentacles and I will beat you all into
submission, and then feed you all to Twon's Uglyfish.
It's a good job that I am at the end of the office, without a manager, People might see my E-
mails, and claim that I'm not the genius I claim I am. But then everyone else I can see are
writing E-mails. So maybe they are in trouble with their own super group of villains. I am
pretty sure that Ernst Stavros Blofeld will make an appearance, because after all, he was
never officially killed was he? Sounds like a book to me, I think I'll write it one day, and
spend the proceeds on making better tentacles. To kill. Bad guys. And Frenchmen. And
Paul Ross. And Steven Seagull - the weakest member of Team Steve.
These dots aren't scaring me, I will reply because I want to, but not because of your implied
threats. I need a shave. I want more humbugs. There's a hole in my bucket and a rat in my
kitchen. I am not just making excuses.
I've done enough to cover myself in glory. I'm not sure I want any more Humbugs. The last
one is still working its merry way around my molars, and probably antagonizing my dentist
into giving me a large bill. But they are the good ones, soft and chewy, not like those horrid
gobstoppers that pass for humbugs nowadays. Butter, not boiled sugar, that's the key.
Seven minutes to dinnertime. More Internet exploration for Dr Octopus costumes methinks.
Film or Comics, that is the question, which baffles great minds. Einstein and Eisenstein
both once thought to themselves (completely independently, and for two different parties I
believe) Batman film (rubber fetish suit) or Batman comic (gray/blue body-suit/cowl
number). I believe they both decided to go as Blues Brothers anyway. I think Eisenstein
was Jake.
Why have you not replied to me, what is this breakdown in our pre-lunch communication? I
have replied and replied until I am blue in the finger (that might be a circulation problem), I
have eaten Bounty bars until I have a headache (not your fault per se) and I have even
looked at the Calamity Jane web site. And you don't even mail me back. I am betrayed,
naked, tired and torn, lying here on the transaction center floor, whilst people step over me
to get to the coffee machine for half filled cups of frothy cappuccino. Apparently I am a fire
hazard, and they have asked me to have my breakdown outside, but it's cold out there.
I must stop picking my nose. The one I have is fine.
I must stop changing my mind. The one I have is fine.
I have written to Tony to tell him of the week's misadventures. It is a long tale full of misery
and woe. It is much like the BRFC statistics for this, the first few games of the season. I
hope you realize that the Rovers are now lying second to last in the league. I might go up
there and get Jim Bowen (our most famous fan) to tell them off. That would be a bull's-eye.
More peanuts.
In the game of chess, you never let your opponent see your hand.
I had Toffee Crisp for breakfast and regretted it. It left my mouth covered in a film of
processed something. I think it might be time to get rid off the Toffee Crisp as it's badly
designed. Unlike the Small Bulldog Clips I use to clip paper together. What a brilliant
device. Device doesn't rhyme with crevice, but the implications of that are all but
subjective. I made up for my earlier culinary disappointment with a Steak and Onion
sandwich, which was not as bad as I thought it might be. My Littlewoods accounts are a
mess. I need the boss to come back from Slough to help me, but I think I might sweep it
under the carpet and sell the paper for scrap. To a hospital. To make pants with.
When I was at the dentist, he told me that my molars need more attention. For a month I
have been scrubbing them vigorously, but now my wisdom teeth areas are starting to swell
up, and I think I'm biting down on swollen flesh when I bring my teeth together. That's
probably something I shouldn't be telling you, huh? How's the botty? A colorful montage of
purple, black and yellow was your bruise this morning. It's very impressive. Maybe you
should send it to Bottom Bruise Monthly or Women's Wounds.
I spoke to Dad yesterday, he seems in fine fettle, but he shouted at me because I told Nan
about his inability to screw sideboards in without killing people. I remained nonplussed. I
think I will go and see what is happening with The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy movie I
have started to hear things about. It should be all good. Some rapper called Mos Def is to
play Zaphod Beeblebrox I understand. Unhearing Lichen is probably a silly name, so Moss
Deaf it is.
I have yet to restart work after finishing my last E-mail, just updating my E-files, and
wondering whether the guy behind me who is always laughing on the phone (is it a
premium rate comedy line? Is he just babbling into nothing? Is he mad? And would he
starve without me?) is watching me write E-mails, and whether he will dob on me.
You can fax me if you want. I could fax you. We could fax each other. I'd be faxed, you'd be
faxed, and we’d all be faxed. Faxing Hell.
I like the embossed triangle on the body of the bottle of a bottle of Tipp-Ex. I like That
Pepsi Max advert (if not the product) where those guys have a fight, with the black
shadowy people pulling all the special effects. I like to watch you sleep. In my arms. I like T-
Bone steaks and lazy rum. I like glorious patriotic victory and flowers that grow off the side
of buildings and laugh with contempt at builders. I like good films that make you laugh like
friends. I like to allocate without problems. I like to prove people wrong (in your face, non-
believers).
Got ten minutes left and have put in a powerhouse of a performance today, and have put
myself right up to date, with no more time to restart any projects, so I thought I'd see how
my little English flower is doing. I just managed to allocate a ten grand payment in less than
twenty minutes. Joe spent more time hurling on Saturday night than that. What a slogan for
S Lomas Allocation Inc. - 'We Allocate Faster than you Regurgitate!'
"Ooh, A nice red Slogan, I think I'll employ that firm for all my allocating needs."
Is what they'll say.
Oh yes, it's great to be an Englishman at the start of the third millennium of man. A bottle
of port, some hooky muffins, and the Godly children will be talking to their deity on the big
white telephone.
Yes, I am back at work, and it is being hailed as a miracle (Seun said so), and that I am
back in half the time expected of me (no less a respected authority than Mr. Roy Gregg
said so) so I am thinking of putting myself for a bravery award, so the Eamon Holmes can
call me 'so ruddy bloody brave', and Kate Garroway will smile whilst reading the news that I
have dedicated this well deserved award 'to all the angels that fought and lost'.
I even managed to stroll in ten minutes late and still get admiring glances from my
manager, less than a week after she was shouting at the floor for being late. I am the
Robin Asquith of my work. Peter is off in a meeting in Bradford today, so I am the Gaffer
and I might yet give myself a raise, depending on how many targets I hit today, but my
standards are pretty high, and I would have to get up pretty early in the morning to catch
myself with my trousers down.
Saw Matt Matt on the way to work today, he was a good three quarters of an hour late for
work, but yet waited for me to cross the road, so we could walk the three yards past the
Horn together. He looked tired. But then I probably looked worse, despite having about
twenty hours sleep since getting back Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. I Finished
1984, and there is no happy ending, I fear you would not enjoy the book. The evil state
wins, and Winston and Julia (our protagonists) do not end up together.
I best go and bravely do some work, in a valiant and courageous manner.
Got here nice and early, so that was good. Sorry I haven't replied yet, but there was a lot
of matching to do before month end finished (we did it). I have created lots of paper
rubbish, but it was all scrap paper anyway, so I haven't wasted any new paper, so that has
scored a tiny blow for the environment. I am the friend of trees, and expect to be canonized
in the new years honors list. St Steve Lomas OBE sounds good. But then, you have to
have died to be canonized, so I don't think that I'll write to the Pope just yet. I have a
terrible feeling that John F Kerry will loose the election and then we will be subjected too
another four years of Dubya's Shoot-first-and-then-ask-no-questions-later policies. Hurray
for world leaders. Joe doesn't like Kerry for his stance on abortion, but Joe is Pro War and
Pro Babies. I think he might be the new Nixon. If he checks into Watergate hotel, then just
be aware.
Thursday, from the Lunar God, Thursday, Lunar God of the moon.
I need a full report on the infamous historical practice of the Window Tax. I need dates
(starting from, ending in) The kings/Queens at the time (Was George on the throne?)
What kind of tax bands where there? Different taxes for different styles of window and
house (lead windows, Stained glass windows, wattle and daub houses etc) and I need it for
no reason at all. Apart from to prove a right wing religious bigot/zealot that he is
right/wrong.
Also I need to know how long serial killers get in this country, can I get them off for good
behavior, what if he just killed people that no-one liked, or that no-one would miss (Denise
- the Sexpert on This Morning, Anthony Worrel Thompson, Jade Sodding Goody), and how
much would he be allowed to receive from ghost written memoirs, Red-Top exclusives,
things like that. Just so I can make a killing out of Stim's unnatural propensity for violence
and bludgeoning people to death with pieces of broken furniture.
I am falling asleep at my post and I might just let some terrible thing happen in my state of
unconsciousness. Best try to wake my ass up somehow. Found more houses to look at.
People have promised that they will ring back but they have yet to. They lie to me like
thieves in the night and pushers on the swing. Paranoia is seeping into my psyche and I
am aware of terrible things that make babies cry like cats screaming in a river. I must be
wary of talking to people in case they might try to swing a surprising bout of chloroform
attack.
Top O' the morning to you.
Well, This looks interesting - O Neil's are doing Karaoke on Sunday night, but - and get
this - a live band instead of CD's. Imagine Loafing it up with a full band behind. It might be
just an old man and a Kazoo, but that would be all the better.
That's right James was out with us last night. You may or may not of heard of his plan to
impress Manboob (tee-hee) with his ice-skating skills, (he texted you to tell you how
impressed she would be. And sent it to her) but his organizational skills have once again
been his downfall as he would have been a month early. She would have been impressed.
James has the skills to pay the bills. As long as they're very small bills, for tiny amounts of
cash.
Fact
I'm sure Joe has told you, my geeking has been beset by money-troubles, and anyway, I
can get it all cheaper on E-bay (Dynamite Kid DVD for two hours, only £5. His best
matches. Non-Fiction). And I've met R2-D2 twice now. I think ol' stubby won't mind if I miss
him out once. Besides, I've got an Australian in the family now, so when we destroy the
Aussies on Saturday, I've got top be there to be obstroperous.
Fact
Got to go for a bit, only wrote this E-mail so I could fill in the time between getting in late
and first shash break and/or cigarette break.
I Pity the fool who can't write answers to questions down correctly.
I pity the illiterate fool.
You made my pity list.
You are very piteous.
You reek of piteousity.
You are at the peak of piteousness.
PITY PITY PITY!
Dearest Mr Elf-Witch,
I have received your application for my Pity List and am delighted to be able to tell you that
you are receiving star billing at the moment. You qualifications for being pitied are second
to none, and I have yet to receive an application with as much pity needing as yours. My
company - Flat Cap Pitying Limited - will be sending you some pity as soon as we have
walked our whippets over the cobbled streets of The North.
If you would be kind enough to wait until the busy Christmas period is over then I shall
personally recommend you to be pitied by all my friends - Fred Dibnah; the cast of Corrie;
Geoff Boycott; and of course Big Daddy.
I understand at the moment that you are currently posing as some kind of Southerner,
when our records say that you are in fact Welsh. WE have many great Welshmen (an
oxymoron if ever there was one) on our Pity list; Neil Kinnock, Ned's Atomic Dustbin; Aled
Jones. We would be pleased to invite you to join them, Boyo.
Regards,
Flat Cap Pitying Limited,
The North.
Ah, finally the final bell ringeth and I shall return to my house to try to sleep away the
demons that are currently clogging up my cerebral cogs.
See y’all tomorrow.
Love Stevo,
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