Oct 5, 2019: Twaturday

I’m not sure, really, which was the worst finish to today’s proceedings.

Was it the phone call from my bank’s fraud department, letting me know they’d identified some fraud on my account which then totalled over £1000 in the last couple of days when we went through it all?

Or was it the fact that, in doing that, my actual spending on my account falls into just  three categories – bus fares, Sainsbury’s and Xbox with an occasional Amazon purchase thrown in for good measure?

Or was it having to leave work for my 9pm bus, hoping to dodge the drunk, shouty man who was walking round town pushing over random people, shouting and standing in the road kicking at cars?

I threw the middle one in for funsies, to be honest. But the other two were shit on a stick.

The fraud thing was a bolt from the blue, was just happily at work minding my own business and then answering a text about whether I recognise a couple of transactions which took place in London this afternoon. Oddly, no. No I do not. Made all the better by the fact that my card is in my wallet, in my pocket. So I was thrilled by the whole enterprise. I mean, yes, I had the added insider knowledge of having worked for the bank so I knew how stuff worked but it’s still not nice going through a list of things that other scrotes have used your money for although most of it is wanky shit like gambling and a bunch of flowers from Interflora. Because obviously that’s what you’d do.

So I now have that to watch slowly trickle back into my account, and while I know I don’t have to keep an eye on everything as closely as I will be doing, I’ll be watching my account like a joyless accounting hawk. Maybe even just running my account with the bare minimum needed to get by and a gazillion transfers for anything else. However many days I am working multiplied by a bus fare. It’s the way forward.

And then the shouty man. He can do one.

Where we are in town, we get to see a cross-section of the great unwashed drift past the window and, obviously, there are things which cause us to look outside. Nobs in their tuned cars, revving like buggery between traffic lights is a favourite, but shouty people is high up there.

Tonight was a drunk shouty person, who shoved a man just walking past him, threw some punches at a couple of others and then just stood in the middle of the road and kicked at traffic as it went past. It wasn’t fun to watch for two reasons – 1) I had to go past the end of the road he was doing all this on to get the bus and 2) I was leaving Addy at work. Addy is around three feet high and is not a fan of being on her own after 9pm. She managed to conjure up some friends to come and meet her after work, though, so I felt better about it before I left.

And then I left.

Quickly.

And got on the bus. And I’ve told Addy to get off as soon as possible and not bother sorting anything out tonight. We can do that in the morning – originally it was just she can do that in the morning, but I’m in as well so many hands make light work and all that.

I love Huddersfield town centre on a Saturday night. Just when you think it can’t get worse, it does.

And even more so on nights where there has been a match on because, yaay, football.

Ugh.