Mental note: If I am to do this walking from Waterloo to work in the mornings thing even when the Northern Line is fully functional, some sort of hairbrush is going to have to be awaiting me at work.
Walking across the foot bridge this morning, I saw so many variants on the ‘young professional’ – women in smart black suits and trainers, with their shoes under their work desks or in their handbags; women in jeans (clearly graphic design or publishing types) and heels; men in pink shirts and black ties, blue shirts and blue ties, white shirts and pink ties; professionals who are somewhat less ‘young’; trendy skinny girls; everyone with that bleary-eyed Monday rat race look. I think I probably belong in the ‘overly long scarf’ brigade.
Good weekend, much fun dancing to hip-hop and side-stepping pilled-up youngsters at Fabric for Damien’s birthday, and good times around a fire at our flatwarming. Of course there was much name-throwing, with two of my flatmates catching napovers and me dealing with Ian’s absence by drinking loads and loads of beer.
This transitional phase for him is taking its toll, on both of us. I watched the last race of the season alone yesterday, without my Tome of Knowledge on All Things F1 sitting next to me. Great race, but no one shared my enthusiasm, and all exclamations of ‘they won the constructors too, awes’ and ‘look at Flav!’ were met with curious pitying looks.
Broadband is meant to be initialised today, so hopefully I may have a new header for your ass sometime this week.
This is a 
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