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Wednesday, April 02, 2003
Missed breakfast this morning because I had to dash in to work at one of my clients. It's now 5pm and I'm staring out across the Thames from the ninth floor of the magazine and writing this because I've cleared all the work currently available. It's at moments like that when you face the eternal dilemma: do you tell your line manager you're looking for more work, or do you try to look busy while counting down the minutes to being set free? (Hint: there are 45 minutes before I burst through the office's exit humming the theme to Born Free.)
The weather in London has been strange this week, sunshine and crispy loveliness at the begining, then wet and miserable and windy. I've been watching the clouds skittering across the London skyline and trying to predict what they will do. Open their slimy little hearts over my house where the roof needs fixing, or continue onwards to France and do their worst over a nation we're supposed to hate (according to some tabloid newspapers). Apparently the war graves of British soldiers have been desecrated in France with graffiti extolling the British to dig up their dead and re-bury them our own soil. The callers to the local radio station were in high dudgeon at the perfidious froggies and all they stand for. The occasional French caller to the station insisted this was obviously the work of North African Islamic fanatics in France and the lone Scot spent time making it clear that the French only don't like the English so he was sure the gaffiti didn't apply to any Scots in the graveyard. I'm sure if I could be bothered to give some thought ot it, I could find far better reasons to hate the French than a bit of silly scribbling in a cemetery. But the silly scribblers in our dear darling Press are totally convinced this is the last straw with the French. I blame the failing education system myself. Quite clearly the 'journalists' on those papers have missed out on a thousand years of Anglo-French antagonism. Hate the French for pate de foie gras, eating horses or the word entrepreneur, perhaps, but because of vandalism? No, we just clean the graffiti off and get on with life.
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The bailiff was a very pleasant fellow last Monday. He was relatively new at bailiffing and didn't know the ropes, so I had to explain things to him. He even made the cardinal mistake of accepting a cuip of tea and looked quite shocked when I explained to him that while I would never do something as nasty as spitting in his cup, I'm quite sure others would. I will probably have paid off the bill before christmas, but if I haven't, I think I'll add him to my christmas card list and buy him a flask so he can make his own tea for safety's sake.
4:34 PM
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