Je crois que je ne t'aime plus

I intended to start my blog with a well needed rant about how much I hate my job and how I want to stab everyone I work with in the face. However, the last week of my life has been some sort of comedy of errors and it is only right that I recount it in order to illustrate that God, or whoever is up there, is taking the complete piss out of my life.

It started off with an attempt to buy the National Lottery last weekend. I say an attempt as I was id-ed. I'm 24. I was speechless; and that doesn't happen often. So thats fine. I get over the trauma of being mistaken for a 15 year old by the cretin that was working behind the counter.

Off I go in to London to my job and I'm listening to the most uplifting song ever on my ipod as I make my way through Lincoln's Inn Fields when my foot sort of slides a bit. Of course I was so uplifted that I wasn't looking at the floor to watch my step. I'd stepped on a freshly run over, still red as fuck, pigeon. It was fucking grim. It was one of those things where I thought, "I'll laugh about this later". On reflection I'm not laughing. Still gross. Suddenly the world wasn't quite such an uplifting place.

To cheer myself up I went home and thought I'd see what my leopard print dress looked like with my new nu-rave neon pink tights. It looked like an overweight flamingo had been unfortunate enough to wander in to the path of a leopard where it was unceremoniously eaten but the leopard hadn't quite got to the legs yet. I can't quite bring myself to discuss it any further. It was all quite undignified.

I've started to notice that I've begun to morph in to that London-ite that I despise with a passion. You know the ones, they stand right on top of you behind you and huff and puff until you move out of their way because they have somewhere to be and they are FAR MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU. Yeah. Thats me.

So I had a pretty shit afternoon at work on Friday what with being at work and other things completely out of my control. So I decide to sack work off a bit early as I'm clearly not doing anything productive apart from updating my Facebook which *I* see as productive - don't think work quite does. Anyway, I reach Holborn tube and there are these two girls in front of me linking arms. About my age, walking fairly slowly, taking up all the space so it is impossible to overtake them. So the inner, angry, monologue starts going,

"Oh my God do they think they are in a Match.fuckingcom advert or something. I don't think they're going to fucking lose each other if they unlink their arms so I can GET PAST and get back so I can start in on those lovely bottles of Becks. Or maybe they are so fucking disabled that they need to fucking hold each other up and if they ARE that disabled then maybe they should consider getting the tube not at rush hour because they are just."

And then the inner monologue stopped. Dead. They had got on to the escalators in front of me. They were doing quite a lot with their hands. They were deaf. And then one of them turned around. Thickest glasses I've ever seen. And I'm pretty blind. They actually were disabled.


I am a horrible person.