Thirty Thousand Streets

Monday, March 20, 2006


A girl called Alli I went to uni with back in the primordial mists of time once told me how she and her housemate, high on student life and hell-bent on hi jinks, had developed a novel way of disposing of tea bags with the little bits of string attached, wherein having removed them, they’d whirl them round, sling like, before catapulting them into the wall above the bin, allowing them to slide down leaving a brown sluggy tea stain on the wall.

That’s how my head feels now.

I’m sat in an agency on Baker Street, waiting for copy, staring out at scaffolding across the road. I’m drinking strong tea, and have just polished off a cinnamon whirl and a croissant.

Things I saw on the way to work this morning:

Two traders setting up at the Elephant & Castle market trading fisticuffs completely silently, while a third bloke tried to break them up, with very little success. Hard to work out exactly what was going on, but it looked like they were on the same stall. They were really swedging though, with some serious head pounding action

An old guy on the escalator on the tube at Baker street, bent at a nearly ninety degree angle, due to what? old person spine shrinkage or summat. Yoga please.

Found out just Wednesday while doing some sporadic letter opening that I’d gone over my overdraft, and my bank was cheerfully crucifying me for it (figuratively speaking of course – sorry Jews, Christians etc) which pretty much wiped out any money I earned in oh, the last two weeks. Basically they were charging me £30 every time I used my card, on top of some other charges which were probably set out in six point type (80% tint) on page six of something I signed in 1997.

Fair play to them though, I hear HSBC are a bit strapped these days, and they did offer me a loan to sort it out.


And in saying that I apologise to female genitalia everywhere - no offense intended for indirect association with these vampires.

What annoys me is the utterly superfluous nature of these charges - which effectively amount to a poor tax for chumps like yours truly. As Simon said last night, evil geniuses. I hate the way banks have the gall to actually crow when they’re not charging you for something too.

“We will not charge you for withdrawing money from this ATM”

Beamed an earnest HSBC cashpoint at me this morning. And? So you fucking shouldn’ cheeky, cheeky money hungry bitches. Honestly. Come the revolution...

Anyway Jules’s birfday at the Funky Munky (hate that name) tonight, so no doubt japes await me there.

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