So first here’s a reminder that you should send me questions, questions that I will answer at the weekend in a magnificent two-part post. And these questions can concern anything you like, I will talk about what you want me to: music and love and cars and drugs and ponies, my shoe collection, girls and fashion, boys and girls, boys and fashion, it’s up to you.
And I’ve had many brilliant questions so far and fewer less brilliant ones (I will answer all) but I want more. Se email email@example.com or leave a comment.
Anyway, on Monday evening I go round to Matty’s new flat in Knightsbridge for dinner and Nicole and Niles and Elliott are also there and these guys eat something called Matty’s Famous Potato Dish and I eat turkey breasts with cauliflower and then I have strawberries for dessert and these guys have strawberries with cream that’s gone off and then Matty copies 4,768 songs from my iPod into his iTunes and then I leave.
On the way back to the tube station I walk past many shops including Gant and decide that if I had it my way I would have a complete wardrobe of Gant and Ralph Lauren clothes and nothing else. I also walk past a shoe shop and I see some green Fred Perry trainers and these trainers would go really well with a pink polo shirt and khaki shorts and also my new tattoo so I set the alarm on my phone to remind me to get them the next day.
On Tuesday at lunchtime I go to a different shop in Covent Garden that sells them and I see they do them in green with white or white with green, so I take a picture and I send it to Scott to help me decide.
Then she goes and gets them and it takes 3 minutes this time I decide to buy them and one of them has a tiny smudge on it that you can barely see and they give me a 10% discount, which is fucking ace.
Back in the office I ask A Girl what do I look like when I’m sitting at my desk pretending to work and A Girl says the following:
“You look engrossed in your work. Your eyes are also slightly squinty but in a way that says, ‘I’ve seen this all before, I know how to handle it.’ Also with a slight cockiness, ‘I’m not going to take any shit from anyone’ look.
This is offset intermittently with very brief periods of severe and utter depths of depression, particularly when you look down at your desk. For just a moment I imagine a large, salty tear drop to come splashing down at your desk but then before I can even finish the thought you go back to your engrossed, experienced and cocky look”.
And if this is the look I convey, I can’t really ask for anything more.