"I shall, my sweet one. But, oh, ghastly ghastly Boris."
I am still in employment, sadly. More accurately, I continue to come to the office since it is the only place I can access the internets at the moment. I am continuing with my attempts to resign, but Euromaster is going for the "La la I can't hear you" approach. I will try again next week - so more on this soon. MBF has promised to shoot me if I am still here in three months, so I have something to aim for.
WARNING: The following post contains scenes of a historically inaccurate nature (I have a modern history degree, do not argue with me) and an irritating extended metaphor.
My agonisingly brief reunion with London is over. Leave has been cancelled, London and I have had a chaste farewell on a Central Line platform, all clipped accents and supressed emotion, and I am back in the trenches of Belgium, looking after the Maginot Line and trimming my moustache.
As Sigfried Sassoon and I share the last sausage in the Officers' Mess, however, dark thoughts start to prey on my mind. London was looking awfully, I don't know, smart, wasn't it? All those new shops? I can't help wondering if the slut isn't putting out for the GIs in return for nylons, tinned meatloaf and Lucky Strikes.
Exhibit 1 : the Brunswick Centre
Previously a barren concrete dustbowl populated by lost TOEFL students with matching backpacks, feral cats and a lone branch of Iceland. Now a heady mix of Baby Gap, Carluccios, Starbucks and .... Waitrose. Say no more.
Exhibit 2: Coram Fields café
Previously: Hole in the wall serving Nescafé and Fruit Shoots. Abandoned bench to sit on, if you like pigeon shit.
Now: Paradise of Austrian themed jollity, with unheard of luxuries such as chairs and tables. Linzertorte, two kinds of strudel, giant pretzels and Milka chocolate squares with your coffee.
More generally, the level of goat deformity was unchanged. The one with goitre and the one with the overbite have been replaced by one with a giant shaggy academic's beard and one with terribly problematic horns. This was reassuring. The sheep are still darkly drawn to sit on the stairs and look gloomy.
Ok, this is all the evidence I have, but still, dark dark suspicions prey on me. I may have to take my service revolver and go and shoot myself in full dress uniform, with my pipe still clasped between my manly teeth.
In other news, I got to play with Antonia, Esme, and their yellow Peloop. It was great. Antonia attracted a series of peculiar people, many with luxuriant facial hair. Esme was wonderful company and I was allowed to feed her juice with a dirty medicine dispensing tool from the bottom of my handbag just for kicks. Yes, I am a shining example of motherhood. The whole experience made me want to go and pinch Stephen Hawking really hard to get him to fiddle around with time and space so that I could be friends with Antonia and Esme when I was bored off my head wandering the streets of London with Lashes circa 2004-2005. Jesus, it can't be that hard can it? Get it together, cyberguy.
I am back in Belgium with a heavy heart, 3 Makka Pakkas, and no luggage (yay! Terminal 5-tastic! I only checked it in so that I could keep all the stuff I had stolen from my hotel, so once more kids, incontrovertible evidence that crime doesn't pay). Hopefully the internets will be returned to me this weekend and I can stop being so completely fucking useless and we can finally have some FUN round here. Yeah!