Midday drops off the clock and I stifle a yawn. What is the point of anyone working these tedious days between Christmas and the new year? You sit there, stuffed to the point of near insensibility from total gluttony, head in your hands, fighting the urge to eat yet more fattening things and you try to find just one small iota of motivation.
And can you?
No you bloody can’t.
Bored out of my tiny mind.
Had intended to waste large amount of today talking to Ti but I received a very sad little text when I woke up saying he’s back in hospital with yet another attack of food poisoning, India style. Back, therefore, on the drip. God, just can’t wait to experience another bout of dysentery when get back to SE Asia. Everything up. everything down. It’s good for the waistline but that’s about it.
Just while I’m in the whinging mood, matters were not helped today by waking up this morning with a hangover the size of Belgium. Why did I smoke last night? Whose hairbrained idea was it to feed me copious amounts of wine then wave the Marlboro lights in my direction?
Argh argh! STOPPRESS I get to shut the office early as absolutely zero is happening… more later therefore.
Friday, 28 December 2007
Wednesday, 26 December 2007
a beginning...
The light is slowly draining from the grey December afternoon and Ellie switches on the lamps and turns up the arthritic heater a few notches in the everlasting war against the chill.
“A toast” I say, tilting my glass so that the light shines through the bubbles in the fizz, “to the Summer. And may we not linger in finding her.”
“Don’t you mean Happy Christmas?” asks Ellie, raising her eyebrow just the fraction of a millimetre and chinking the edge of her glass with mine.
But there’s the thing. Am not thinking about Christmas. Don’t really give much of a damn about Christmas. There is one thing and one thing only on my mind – getting the hell out of England asap and going to have some more adventures Sas-stylie.
Hence this blog. Have made a pact with Timo the (divinely long legged) Finnish storyteller to each make a new blog. If you come across it, at least for now, it’s by chance. You have probably never met me (although London gets smaller by the day it is true). And so this is the beginning of the tale. There’s three months, give or take, of preparation before can up sticks and bugger off round the world so you’ll have to read about the parties and agonies of work before I quit too.
(You can always skip the boring bits.)
“A toast” I say, tilting my glass so that the light shines through the bubbles in the fizz, “to the Summer. And may we not linger in finding her.”
“Don’t you mean Happy Christmas?” asks Ellie, raising her eyebrow just the fraction of a millimetre and chinking the edge of her glass with mine.
But there’s the thing. Am not thinking about Christmas. Don’t really give much of a damn about Christmas. There is one thing and one thing only on my mind – getting the hell out of England asap and going to have some more adventures Sas-stylie.
Hence this blog. Have made a pact with Timo the (divinely long legged) Finnish storyteller to each make a new blog. If you come across it, at least for now, it’s by chance. You have probably never met me (although London gets smaller by the day it is true). And so this is the beginning of the tale. There’s three months, give or take, of preparation before can up sticks and bugger off round the world so you’ll have to read about the parties and agonies of work before I quit too.
(You can always skip the boring bits.)
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