January is dismal, unexciting and where hope goes to die. Why compound this time of unhappiness with a denial of all things fun?
Brixton was the last place I would have ever considered living but I was down on my luck and couldn’t afford to be fussy
I decided that swimming would be my sport of choice for this year’s half-arsed attempt to get fit
Ordinarily I am mild mannered to a fault; barely able to say ‘pssst’ to a budgie let alone ‘boo’ to a goose
The experience of being amongst ‘my people‘ does nothing but undermine my sense of self and exasperate self-loathing.
Holidays only really succeed in highlighting the tedium of my regular existence.
What gets me is the people who move to London and live an existence you could live on a trading estate in Devon. Why move to London, rent a mouldy room and suffer relentless damp if you aren’t going to embrace its social(ising) superiority?
Like a modern Alice in Wonderland, getting to Brasserie Roux restaurant requires quite a journey: past a sanitised reception area – where one would assume ambience and character go to die - and through an expansive, marble, rabbit warren that is the Sofitel Hotel.
Some people choose to substantiate their existence with capital gain, social standing and a career descent that gives us mere 9-5er‘s severe social vertigo.
So, this, what is it called again? The ‘Credit Crunch’ is it? Remind me because it’s hardly been mentioned at work, at home, on the Tube, in the shower, at the vets, during sex, at dinner or anywhere else. Why the newspaper is choosing to ignore the looming recession and focus solely on BBC re-runs of [...]
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