Wednesday, 23 February 2011

Slow, slow, quit, quit, slow

I have found a pleasant pub in North London! The Charlotte Despard on Archway Road (nowhere near me, obv) is foody, well proportioned, with film posters on the wall and a not totally awful wine list. And there is no one in it, which is obviously the best feature of all. It is ten past four on a Wednesday afternoon so this may well be subject to change, should the knock-kneed pant-displaying multi-hatted community make the trip down from the Boogaloo, just up the road.

I'm waiting for Kelly to emerge from her psychologist's appointment in Hill House just around the corner( I exclusively and amusingly refer to it as Hell House as i'm exactly that sort of tiresome prick ). My own appointment at the same building is on Thursday - we have his 'n' hers psychologists, like wedding-present towels. Though our dirty laundry is kept under wraps!*

I have resigned from work, or at least have attempted to engage the subject of resigning, with my manager yesterday. My lengthy and pathetic e-mail got an out-of-office reply with the promise that he would be in the office today. No reply. Even my quitting after a decade of work is farcical. This never happened to Patrick McGoohan!

*he said, writing his blog...