Holy Moly!
Thank God, it's more like. This Faustian nightmare* shall be over in around 8 hours.
* = I don't know if having to be at work early is some sort of Faustian nightmare but it sounds good. Bear with me.
06:14
At the Tube station.
06:23
The Jubilee Line, so early in the morning, is packed with an incongruous bunch of people.
Blue-collar immigrant labourers in paint-spattered cheap tracksuits who smell of turpentine, sat next to Paco Rabanne-infused City boys on their way to Canary Wharf clad in Armani suits.
And me, straddling the divide. Primark vest (concealed) and Prada shoes (visible).
07:09
The choice in the canteen at work is pretty lean. Unlike the pork sausages that are oozing under the carvery lights.
07:12
I opt for the vegetarian sausages instead. Two of them end-to-end in a roll and smothered in tomato sauce.
It is food that has as much nutritional value as an Ikea lampshade smothered in custard.
08:29
Oh God.
I've had another one and it tasted even better the second time around.
09:03
There seems to be a concerted attack on my will. No, not the thing you use to fuck over your kids once you're dead (leave it all to the dog).
But instead; on the desk where the teabags live there is a packet of Minstrels, Haribo and a box of biscuits. Like an industrial sized shoe-box of biscuits from Tesco.
10:16
Football. What do you know about it?
I know that it's a game, you support it by being a bit lairy and sometimes you run onto the pitch.
The running onto the pitch thing is bad. And anti-social. And nobody likes a thug. It's so wrong. Hooliganism is arcane. Revolting. Urgh. What thugs. Pigs. Ohmygod that's so hot.
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