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Life, love, and the daily grind in London, as told through the rants of a twentysomething
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Pictures are taken on a Canon Powershot S3 IS and hosted at flickr.com/photos/sparkle_jen.
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Gmail calls me jenniefromtheblog
I'm cooking dinner tonight. Having existed on toasted pitta bread dipped in houmous and calling it a meal for far too long, I'm getting back in the kitchen to flex my culinary muscle. And the recipe I've settled on demands wine. As does the chef, come to that.
So, if you had a weirder morning than I did today, then I want to hear about it. Come on, don't be shy. Prove to me that you can whip me hands down when it comes to the total freakshow that was my journey into work today. But somehow ... I just don't think you can.
So my current flatmate has finally decided to move in with her boyfriend (a mere technicality really, seeing as she stays there about five nights a week), and once again, I find myself searching for someone else to live with. No, that’s great. I mean, on top of the million and one things I’ve had to sort out and organise this year, now this as well. What fun. Bring it on.
To the fortysomething gentleman on the Bank branch Northern Line train at 9:30 this morning, reading the hardback book.
Cast: Me, my mate Phill, my mate Will, and his girlfriend Beth. And yes, we are all staggeringly immature.
A silent word I had with God this morning, as I made my way towards my office:
On my first day at my last job, I was shown to my desk by my boss, who switched on the computer, opened the program within which we chiefly worked, then without further ado, walked off and left me, with no explanation whatsoever of what I was supposed to be doing or how I was supposed to do it. It was 20 minutes before I realised he probably wasn't coming back and timidly asked my adjacent colleague how precisely I was supposed to do my job. Thanks to my boss's ideas of training and developing his staff, I would spend the next few months bending my colleague's ear. To his credit he was a perfect gentleman about it.
Last night, having barely stopped to take a breath after a two-hour frenzy of baking (it's my last day at work today, and tradition dictates that the one abandoning ship provides their own leaving spread), I went to watch a film on my own.
This afternoon, mercifully after I'd finished eating, I received a message on MySpace from a total stranger:
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