Wednesday, 19th July.
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
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
(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.