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OK, so technically there was a bit more rain spotted around in there, but otherwise I was pretty much spot on.

Still, fair play to both. Murray admitted he was out classed – and oh how he was. Nadal was pretty awesome. I really hope him and Federer make the final, should be a classic.

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So, tennis, eh? What a cracking sport. I can almost bring myself to care about it a full 2 weeks a year. If you wonder where that is on the scale – below cricket, above snooker, darts and golf. You’ll notice none of those four, technically can be classed as sports (Pease is sophisting himself about cricket).

Anyway, the normal progression for Wimbledon is: pluckyneverheardofpseudoBritishwin, annoyinginsomeway(wimp/Canadian/grumpy)butultimatelynotallthatbadBritishscrapethrough, rain, pluckyneverheardofpseudoBritishloss, annoyinginsomeway(wimp/Canadian/grumpy)butultimatelynotallthatbadBritishbigwinfoolishlyraisingexpectations-ofnation, tabloidpun, rain, annoyinginsomeway(wimp/Canadian/grumpy)butultimatelynotallthatbadBritishbulldogcomebackwin, nationthatshouldknowbetterhysteria, rain, annoyinginsomeway(wimp/Canadian/grumpy)butultimatelynotallthatbadBritishlosstosimianlookinggitwhorepeatedly-executesanddespitelookinglikeafreakisbloodygood, abuseofannoyinginsomeway(wimp/Canadian/grumpy)butultimatelynotallthatbadBritishloser, acceptance, apathy.

Rain.

…and so none of the trains worked. I don’t really resent that so much, after all there’s nothing more that an Englishman likes than a stiff upper lip in adversity. And I spoke to people on the train today. I know! Spoke! On the train! To be fair, it wasn’t moving, and we were stood up waiting for over an hour and they were mostly letting me know that since I’d finished my pasty, I was now the most appetising thing on the train (I’m just the messenger here), but still. Spoke! On the train!

Anyway, the main point is that we were stuck on that train for over an hour and no bastard told us anything. There were inaudible garblings over the general Waterloo tannoy but nothing for the saps stood around salivating over my extremities. That, in my less-than-humble opinion, is bullshit. They knew they weren’t going to be leaving anytime soon. They could have kept us updated, the driver was only sat on his arse failing at sudoku after all.

If I had any other bloody way of getting into work I’d seriously consider boycotting.

The least they can do is not run tomorrow either and then I can work from home.

One of the downsides of being a computer geek at an investment bank is the tendency to live almost exclusively at your desk. I get in, sit down, check e-mails, work, continue, go home. Meetings are a respite from this, but hardly a particularly positive one. The air quality in my office just about manages to approach ‘fetid’ (due to a combination of non-functioning aircon, crappy heating and being surrounded by building sites). The only main gap is lunch, and in general that’s a pop round the corner for a sandwich, then back to eat it at my desk. I could potentially go to our other site’s canteen, but as that’s been painted a blindingly oppresive bright white it’s just a guaranteed headache.

So it’s the same sandwiches every other day, alternating from Pret to EAT and back again. I got pretty tired and fed up with this, especially during the horrendous period over Christmas where EAT hatefully discontinued their Chorizo and Grilled Pepper baguette. So I’ve started wandering further afield and discovered how blissful it is to be away from your desk for a bit. St. Pauls is just down the road and the Thames only slightly further. It’s just an extra 10 minutes away, but it makes all the difference in mood and happiness (Note the spelling Will Smith).

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February 2019
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i miss your disposition and your strength to see the best in everyone
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