"...9352674...9352674...oh god, just fucking kill me..."I am a temp. I am a worm. I am a hopelessly slow filer monkey currently crawling around a really really badly kept medical records department trying not to get wedged in between the overflowing shelves and climbing up and down wobbly, broken ladders while sweating like a bastard, showing my pants to anyone who might be looking, dropping things and praying that the day will end soon. ::sigh:: As long as I can pay my rent and get my haircut, I shall just have to get on with it and spare the moaning. Hell, I'd be moaning a lot more if it wasn't for this internet cafe - 1 hour for 1 pound and I am allowed to chow down my lunch and sip bad machine coffee in between typing. If only I was allowed to smoke as well, the experience would be complete. Oh thank you Internet - god bless you and the respite you give me from temping doom!
In other news, Former Flatmate B is back from healing the third world and settling back into civilisation via unsuitable shoes and sit-down toilets. Hurrah! More nights of cheap white wine and shouting loudly and cackling until dawn to come!
In other news, Taxloss Towers has become a frighteningly decadent eaterie with Boatie Flatmate, me and Taxloss himself going for broke (literally) in the beautiful new Sainsburys Market. It is proving to be a mixed blessing - great to be able to buy decent food and cook wonderful meals in the evening but we're doing this every evening and soon we three will be 1) fat 2) broke 3) fat and broke.
Oh dear. Taxloss is away this weekend and I must not go to Sainsburys to cheer myself up. I'm just going to have to drink that pint of fresh custard in the fridge and make do with the leftovers until he gets back. :: sluuurrrrrrpppp::