where I let some of it out Tweet

How did it go? By lunchtime, having used my headphones at least half of the time, I knew my friends and foes at the office. Friends mind their own business. Foes make me want to scream YOUR ASSERTIVENESS IS IN GREAT DANGER OF TRIPPING ON MY ASSERTIVENESS, YOU $*%^. As merry as any other office, you might conclude. The benefit: some 200 people use it, but only about 50 at a time, so there's a welcomed likelihood of not coming across them $*%^ too often. Much like the final years of university in Romania, where good, and bad get jobs and stay out of your way. Why, have you forgotten my bitch inclinations?

When did I cook Vietnamese cha ca—fried fish with rice noodles and fresh herbs? Last Thursday. What day is today? Indeed. What does my flat smell like? Nothing new. What lies in the fridge close to its expiration date? A lovely pair of red mullets. Why did I ever fall for the trap of looook, all this lovely fishes, couldn't I significantly alter my diet? Softy once, and softy twice for finding it impossible to stomach the smell embedded in our lounge, the room one commutes through towards study or home... several times a day. Do not thank God for open kitchens.

How did I make the shower switch work? With a fork. What was the fork doing in my bathroom? Delivering dinner into my mouth. Come to think of it, the fork may end up living there even in less tasty circumstances, as I can't be expected to pop in and out each time, and can't imagine the landlord will fix a cheap bathroom he's just installed in January. Not before he renews the contract, anyway. A risky business we celebrated by spending the week-end in DIY conundrums and related shopping sprees. Our first Saturday and Sunday at home in a while, with no commitments but plenty frustration that we haven't finished the job in a (somewhat) full year.

How cultural has my week-end proven? As cultural as bookshelves can be. I missed at least two events I had in mind and would have loved, read zero pages of good books, saw one bad movie and the rerun of another, processed none of the thousands pending photos, and I must stop before I write a book about it all. So now, when all our hard work turned into two amazing working spaces, we're going to the office. Doesn't it make perfect sense?

The city never sleeps. Not this one, this one does. At length. Neighbours go to bed as early as chickens, and daily effervescence turns into dust at night, when one can hardly find a decent drink or coffee. Shops close when business hours end, finding proper rice noodles may mean a trip to China town, smoking is allowed outside the tables and chairs linings of terraces, or where the garbage bins stand, skateboard venues close because they're deemed dangerous but drug dealers approach you at every other step in Camden, and not only. On top of it, the price for living central: the most polluted road on the island stretches close by, behind the large congestion sign.

The washing machine rocks on. I'll go paint the nails of my toes. Such are the glamorous days, and nights of an adopted west end girl that insists on having it all. Maestro, musica!

Later edit: How could I possibly forget? To understand how passing these storms the magnitude of a water tumbler are, know that yesterday I got infuriated by not being able to attend horse races in between 17 and 21, as I'm already very busy those days. Obviously, I'm a lifelong fan of horse races, a punter even, and haven't missed one single race so far. Honestly now, where else do I get to wear my hats... in public?! Also, the queen hasn't invited me for tea yet.