I fear my recent work may tilt this account into the political category… Fear not, my followers - I’ll be back to my insightful observations concerning vending machines and the likes soon!
First observation of recent months: it seems the poshest postcodes have the worst bins. Who wants to pay the staggeringly expensive rent to live in supposedly pristine streets, when twice a week you are subject to rats and seagulls ravaging through bin bags at your front door.
Wow, X. It’s been so long since I’ve posted we’ve got a new PM, although, that’s hardly a milestone these days! Anyway, I could say I’ve been putting the world to rights, but really my phone broke and I was locked out of my account. Good news? I’m back, and I have a lot to say!
How am I meant to give up anything that brings me joy this Lent when, on the very first weekend, I’m staying with parents I want to impress? No nicotine - I’ll be unbearable. No puddings - they’ll assume I’m on some strange diet. No swearing - there go all my best jokes…
I love black cabs. Are they economical? No. Is there the bane of having to describe exactly where you live instead of dropping a pin? Absolutely. Did I pretend I was getting the bus tonight, only for a black cab to glide past the stop like fate itself? Yes. It was meant to be.
In danger of getting too political here, but the new sugar tax on my sickly sweet iced coffee cans is about to seriously disrupt my morning routine. Really, Rachel Reeves?
Which is more unprofessional: calling in sick on a Monday, or showing up looking like you were lightly trampled by a bus and a voice thats hanging on by a thread? I went with option two today, and honestly… my reputation will need a few weeks to recover
There’s a junction between London and Suffolk called - well, at least my family calls it - ‘Deer Corner,’ thanks to the endless fields of deer. Today, no grazing deer in sight… just three very squished ones. Deer corner in November: disappointing turnout.
Last year on my birthday I woke up to Trump winning the election.
This year I woke up to a boy I went to school with posting photos on Instagram with his trousers down. I honestly don’t know which is worse.
Joined Hinge out of curiosity. Two days in and I now irrationally hate:
1.People who call Nottingham ‘Notts’
2.People who call Yorkshire puddings ‘yorkies’
3.Anyone posing next to the Eiffel Tower
Apparently my new job requires me to understand maps, dimensions, and aesthetic sensibility. I fear I must acquire an architect as a suitor immediately, for I never took geography and can scarcely draw a straight line.
Can something still be called an epidemic if it’s a good thing? Cycling is undeniably great for you, but the sheer number of those two-wheeled contraptions flooding London’s streets has reached levels that can only be described as contagious enthusiasm on wheels.
Apple Pay has been rejecting me at the tube gates these past two days. Annoting at first, but I’ve found a strange charm in using the old ticket machines again. Today I even fed in coins. Between the clink, the whirr and the ticket sliding out I found a little rush of nostalgia.
Never go to the hairdresser hungover. And if you do, don’t say ‘oh whatever you think is best’. High chance you’ll walk out with a bob and the look of someone who’s just lost a bet.
Nothing tests my patience like an airport shuttle making we watch the opposite doors open and close before mine. Practical, maybe. Infuriating? Absolutely.