A Hearse, a Hearse; My Boredom For a Hearse

05:45. An old mobile phone I now use as an alarm clock kicks into life with that annoying monotone bleep. The snooze button is instantly pressed and I claw back another 5 minutes from the rest of my day. Repeat until 6:20 – any later and I miss my window of opportunity for the bathroom and, subsequently, the bus.

The short walk to the bus stop at the top of my street is uneventful save for dodging the frequent smears of excrement that adorn the pavement. I notice how the pavement immediately outside the houses of dog owners is spotless, gleaming almost. I shake my head and continue to the bus stop.

Ever noticed how people sit in the same seat every day on the bus? That’s what the 345 is like for pretty much the whole of my half hour journey to the second leg of my commute. The 10A is different; no hard and fast seating rules and aside from irritating school children and the smoker who is incapable of understanding that no smoking signs generally mean not to smoke, the journey is, again, uneventful.

08:30. I arrive in work. I fire up some music from an internet radio station, “Classic hits from the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s” is the jingle that greets me. Great stuff. I check personal emails, a music forum, Word War and then move on to checking work emails. Then I prioritise my task list according to the deadlines that have to be met.

Clients consistently call throughout the day with idiotic queries. Most of them are incapable of digesting the tax effects of their enquiry and simply feign understanding. There are a choice few who want to hear my explanation said in as many different ways as an hour on the telephone will allow. It’s not like I’m busy and have more pressing matters to attend; a manual corporation tax estimate for a client that provided nothing but VAT return workings (no bank statements, no invoices, no receipts; nothing) and the payment of which is already overdue, for instance.

I moan about clients. Then I moan about Her Majesty’s Revenue & Customs. Useless cretins. I moan some more about clients as one particular client complains that we didn’t include a particular detail on his tax return which means he will now have more tax to pay. While he complained and demanded compensation, I had a copy of the tax return that he signed and authorised us to submit sitting in front of me. Who didn’t read the cover letter, which sets out client responsibilities, we sent out with it then, eh? I apologise and knock 10% off next year’s fee as a gesture of goodwill.

That annoyed me.

17:00. Work is over for another day and I may begin my arduous journey home. The 10A is full of college students. Slipknot and Iron Maiden t-shirts are abundant, the wearers proud of displaying how “underground” they are. Due to not meeting face-to-face with clients very often, I can wear jeans and smart polo shirts to work and so many of the “moshers”, as they are known, look at me and assess my “trendy” appearance with elitist disdain. I take a seat behind one of them, although not the corresponding seat I sat in earlier. “Anal Skewer” by Gorgasm is currently raging from my mp3 player at an unspeakable level of volume and I revel in asinine one-upmanship. Ridiculous, I know, but one can’t help but feel satisfied with oneself for being more “underground” than these gimps.

Then, just as I’m feeling at my smuggest and most l33t, Cutting Crew’s “I Just Died in Your Arms” is the next random song up. Bugger.

Two hours later I get home, sit myself down to read the newspaper, have some dinner and then crack on with studying. Last night was a question re the tax implications of selling the shares in a business versus selling the trade and assets of said business, and a second question re the financial reporting and tax implications of the mid-year disposal of a subsidiary with brought forward and current year losses to another subsidiary.

Lovely.

Two hours from the moment I opened the text book later and I’m just about ready to hit the sack.

I watch an old episode of the X-Files in my bedroom, set my old mobile phone to annoyingly beep at me in the morning, and close my eyes.

05:45. “I got you babe/I got you babe.”