I’ve never really had a head for numbers, but I know all the important ones.
Something you might not know about me is that I spend a fair amount of time considering what people are like in bed.
Nick Clegg, Nigel Farage, Ed Miliband and I all have two things in common.
One, is our inexplicable but powerful sexual magnetism.
Two, is that we all quit our jobs this week.
I first got a TV in my bedroom when I was 12, and I’m pretty sure that’s where all of my life’s problems started.
I thought about doing a humorous, yet heartfelt, list of sixty things that I love about my mum, but, again, that’s really hard. Not because she’s not great, but it’s difficult to find sixty things that you love about anyone, even, yourself; seriously, try it.
This isn’t, for once, the emotional pornography that I am prone to writing but rarely publishing after I’ve just been chucked. In fact, for once, I haven’t been chucked.
I work in an office now. I am an office worker. I’m not sure how it happened, but the other day I found myself annoyed at someone for hoarding staples and it dawned on me then, as she counted out fourteen staples and handed them to me, that I work in an office now. I am an office worker.
“And so then they slid the camera up there…”
I closed my notebook and clicked my pen back inside itself. I wasn’t going to be taking any notes in this meeting.
I think Rightmove is trying to kill me. I don’t know, maybe I’m being paranoid, I just really get the feeling that someone there wants me dead. I’m currently flat hunting, and by flat hunting I mean that I spend my lunch breaks wearily trawling through Rightmove, bookmarking the same flats that I bookmarked yesterday. …