I ask you, why, WHY do we do this? For eight hours solid my feet have been crammed and nipped into a pair of stiletto’s so high they’d give Minnie Mouse vertigo. I bought them to celebrate my first day in the new job. When I got this position mum and dad were thrilled, I took advantage and asked for a car, sports car would be nice. They didn’t take it as a joke - the most penny-pinching people you could ever meet, my parents.
Anyway, feeling stylish and elegant, I entered the bank and was ushered to my personal desk. You know the type of place - swivel-glass doors, marble sink basins and cute rich bankers in Armani suits. I was charming and professional; my boss cracked a terrible joke and I laughed, and his Uncle is in the same golf club as my Dad’s friend’s son. We have so much in common! Honestly though, it’s satisfying to feel you have made a good impression meeting people for the first time. Unfortunately I now need plastic surgery on my feet. I had to count my toes to check they were all present when prising off the evil contraptions which encased them.
I’ve since settled down quite well in “the dream job”. Apart from the discomfort of having an overweight bloke who obviously never wears deodorant sitting adjacent to me, things are good. I'm dreading the summer, though.
Before you ask, yes, there is a romantic prospect, working in accounts; tall, dark and very shy. He lurks behind the coffee machine sometimes. Today, I caught his eye and gave him my best smile, realising later that lipstick was smeared across my front teeth. That’s life.
Looking out of my window into the street, London looks so pretty, all the lights and people. I can watch people all day, guessing who they are, where they’re dashing off to, whether they have children. My friends often laugh at my huge imagination, and I used to get lectured at school for staring out of windows when I should have been staring at algebra. I think it’s a gift, personally. Imagination.
That guy down in the street has been standing there for hours now, he must be freezing. Here’s Lou, the newsagent owner, locking up his shop for the night. I never encountered anyone with such an awe-inspiringly large belly as Lou. If you sneak into his store you catch him with a mouth full of Mars bar, every time. He must eat a box a day.