I was so stressed last week I considered masturbating in public. But I couldn't find anyone willing to film it so I resisted the impulse.
Is that even topical anymore? Or do you now think I'm a raging pervert?
I wouldn't know. I haven't even seen the news for about eight days. I have no idea what's going on. Something about it being hot and then something about people setting themselves on fire because they want petrol. Or have petrol. In their kitchens. And they're inexplicably pouring it into a jug.
That woman who set herself on fire was actually from down the road from my new house. I don't disagree that the advice from that Tory knobber was ridiculous and dangerous if you have only one brain cell. But also, filling a jug with petrol in your kitchen? When the gas hob is on? REALLY?
My first week in an actual office job passed in a blur of dogs, clients, trains, new people and London. I haven't been in an office all day for about a year. I'm used to doing a bit of work from my sofa and then meandering down to the pub to pull pints and swear a lot. I think I'm in shock.
After my first day I staggered back as exhausted as if I had run a marathon. And then I had to do it AGAIN. Four more times. Rounding off the week with a quick trip to London for a not at all terrifying pitch meeting. Weirdly you can get to London from York faster than you can from Leamington Spa. It's magical. Or, as a colleague pointed out, a different line. But I prefer to think of it as magical.
Oh, I also learned that apparently I've moved into the arse end of York. The real scumhole area. Walmgate is traditionally where all the prostitutes used to trade. And these days, as you walk through the anicent Bar, you're hit with blocks of council housing and One Stop Shops. But I kind of like it. I feel more at home. I don't really do posh. And I don't do suburbs. So it suits me for now. And, let's face it, there's a Waitrose five minutes down the road so it's hardly Moss Side.