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Just what, I say what, am I doing here?
Mar. 6th, 2004 01:38 pmIt's Saturday, it's five to one...and I'm in the office.
Why is it that when I walk through Stevenage Town Centre of a Saturday I'm reminded of Charlton Heston in The Omega Man?
When I decided to create Wade International Conglomerated Holdings, I had this idea that it would be a wild round of fancy cars, amenable secretaries, yachts, and gold. The fact that there seems to be work involved has come as a bit of a shock, let me tell you.
I ended the week in a poor old mood due to robbery and clients being jerks (if one more person tells me that I should do business with them for free because it will benefit me and when others see me working with them they'll all want to pay, I shall cause harm. Probably to some random passer-by.) and I was planning on going home a sulking to myself. However,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ukmonty persuaded me to go for birthday drinks instead (or I think that's what he said, anyway. Before translation it was along the lines of "I say, old boy, what-ho pip-pip Beer! Rar! Ding-dong!", but the implication was there), which turned out to be a very wise decision. Some alcohol and a cigar later I was feeling a great deal more cheery and mellow, and jessworld plus her current squeeze (who is from the Bowery, and so it's hard to shake the mental image of Bugs Bunny when talking to him) showing up helped matters too. Food followed beer and then it was off to the Royal College of Art Students Union for more, heavily-subsidised, liquor.
What with being elderly I don't go into students unions very much any more, but it certainly was kinda fun to be in a room full of people for whom the act of taking £10 out of their wallet is still a novel experience.
Sadly, as I'm no longer a lazing student dosser, I had to go home at chucking out time as opposed to going on the late license bar with the students.
One of the few good things about living in London is the Taxis; the ability to wave your hand in the air and get delivered to your own front door in a fairly timely and affordable fashion is, at times like that, delighful. In my experience of jetting round the world and insulting foreigners, getting a taxi usually results in one of three things:
1) The taxi driver jabbering incomprehensibly, waving his arms, and delivering you to a brothel
2) The taxi driver asking for directions to where you want to go and then getting uppity when you point out that they are the taxi driver and you are the customer, or
3) Then turning out not to be a taxi really and trying to steal your luggage.
However, in exchange for a small-denomination banknote and having to listen to ten minutes of why Enoch Powell was right, I arrived home safe an sound; ready for a good nights sleep and a hard day of work today.
Some of that last sentence may be a lie.
*Update*
The advantage of working on a Saturday is that I can listen to Rammstein as loud as I like without the Divorce Lawyers in the next office complaining.
Why is it that when I walk through Stevenage Town Centre of a Saturday I'm reminded of Charlton Heston in The Omega Man?
When I decided to create Wade International Conglomerated Holdings, I had this idea that it would be a wild round of fancy cars, amenable secretaries, yachts, and gold. The fact that there seems to be work involved has come as a bit of a shock, let me tell you.
I ended the week in a poor old mood due to robbery and clients being jerks (if one more person tells me that I should do business with them for free because it will benefit me and when others see me working with them they'll all want to pay, I shall cause harm. Probably to some random passer-by.) and I was planning on going home a sulking to myself. However,
ukmonty persuaded me to go for birthday drinks instead (or I think that's what he said, anyway. Before translation it was along the lines of "I say, old boy, what-ho pip-pip Beer! Rar! Ding-dong!", but the implication was there), which turned out to be a very wise decision. Some alcohol and a cigar later I was feeling a great deal more cheery and mellow, and jessworld plus her current squeeze (who is from the Bowery, and so it's hard to shake the mental image of Bugs Bunny when talking to him) showing up helped matters too. Food followed beer and then it was off to the Royal College of Art Students Union for more, heavily-subsidised, liquor.What with being elderly I don't go into students unions very much any more, but it certainly was kinda fun to be in a room full of people for whom the act of taking £10 out of their wallet is still a novel experience.
Sadly, as I'm no longer a lazing student dosser, I had to go home at chucking out time as opposed to going on the late license bar with the students.
One of the few good things about living in London is the Taxis; the ability to wave your hand in the air and get delivered to your own front door in a fairly timely and affordable fashion is, at times like that, delighful. In my experience of jetting round the world and insulting foreigners, getting a taxi usually results in one of three things:
1) The taxi driver jabbering incomprehensibly, waving his arms, and delivering you to a brothel
2) The taxi driver asking for directions to where you want to go and then getting uppity when you point out that they are the taxi driver and you are the customer, or
3) Then turning out not to be a taxi really and trying to steal your luggage.
However, in exchange for a small-denomination banknote and having to listen to ten minutes of why Enoch Powell was right, I arrived home safe an sound; ready for a good nights sleep and a hard day of work today.
Some of that last sentence may be a lie.
*Update*
The advantage of working on a Saturday is that I can listen to Rammstein as loud as I like without the Divorce Lawyers in the next office complaining.
