Wednesday, 19th July.
Dodge

King's Cross is a bit like Spencer St but much, much worse. I arrived ridiculously early, so I wandered around trying to find places to eat lunch. Eventually I rolled in to the office, a few minutes before nine o'clock.

I then waited. The woman who was supervising me didn't turn up for another half an hour. When she finally did arrive, I had written half a letter to a friend in Australia. (I billed them from 9am, naturally.)

I spent the day ringing people all over the UK, checking contact details. Enthralling. Lunch was a little more entertaining. I bought a "crusty roll" from a joint called "Kev's Snack Bar". The hygeine wasn't too flash but when the price is that low you can't complain too much. I then sat in the park with Cathy, my supervisor.

(And before any of you start writing in asking me of any possible love interest between me and Cathy, as I get asked with any female mentioned on this website, let me tell you that she was, as my mother would gently put it, a plain looking thing. And annoying as all buggery.)

Anyway, we're sitting in this park, well I call it a park, it was a small grassed area with a few park benches, and I notice a sunbather slightly to my left. A mohawked fellow, sunbathing wearing only what looked like a pair of Speedos. Ugly. Then he rearranged himself so that his legs were pointing directly at me, and then parted his legs quite wide. Enough to put me off my crusty roll.