There are about two weeks of the year when my job is so unbelievably dull and slow that it’s all I can do not to call in sick. If I wanted to sleep all day, I’d rather do it in my bed.

Today I have: looked on eBay a lot; read magazines; popped out for fruit yet mysteriously returned with half a Mars ice-cream bar in my hand and caramel smeared on my face. The only stressy part of my day was when a set of page proofs appeared on my desk from out of nowhere* and I had to scrabble around writing letters and filling out bike courier request forms. Now it is slack time again.

Yesterday I had a lovely evening out for only £2! True. Went to the secret sushi place (don’t even ask where it is, I am never telling you, ever, it’s my secret!) and got 10 pieces of tuna roll for £2. Sat in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, then tried to find the Old Curiosity Shop, but couldn’t. We ended up on Kingsway and as we approached Bush House we heard Indian music (what sort? Couldn’t tell you. A guy hitting bongos fast, some sort of jingly music). There were dancers in the courtyard, dancing in the fountains (which were on), and not very many people had showed up to watch them, but it was very lovely. As I was walking home I happened to notice that every homeless person in Lambeth was out stumbling around, asking for change for a cup of crack tea, or arguing with a fellow homeless person in the street. The hoodlums in my neighbourhood were enjoying the mellow weather, too: I took a different route to avoid two arguing hobos, only to happen upon three adolescent boys (one about 11 years old, riding bike, one wearing basketball vest, foot-high afro, one wearing hood even though it was 85 degrees). As I passed them I overheard the kid on the bike saying ‘Yeah, well, that kid owes me money. I need to get the money back.’ What? Who owes you money, Mr 11-year-old? Your mum’s late with your allowance? I thought it was quite funny that someone whose voice hadn’t yet broken had debtors already.



*from the production dept, who gave me a month’s notice on the proofs’ arrival