As a bona fide working girl, I can already see the negative impact my new employed status will have on this blog. Normally, I could spend hours uploading photos of our fantastic weekend in Norway and trying to think desperately of one clever thing to say about trolls or viking ships. But instead: home from the airport, straight to bed, then off to work. So give me another day.
In the meantime, I have something important to say. A Piece of Cake is a chain of quick-food places found in every train station in London, and I am sure beyond. They don’t sell cake though. Which makes me hate A Piece of Cake. And also makes me want to hang my head low and shake it slowly back and forth at the British. And sigh. Loudly.
Thursday a man tapped on my office door to confirm whether I was, in fact, the person he was instructed I was. He then proceeded to apply my name to the outside of the office glass wall. I don’t know when the last time that happened to me was.