Bonk

Eye Beef Er

London, June 2003. 

While my then-housemates, Steve and Lucie, were in the last stages of preparing for a month in Ibiza, in celebration of Lucie's 21st birthday, I had problems of my own. Specifically, I had no cash for the ticket.

I would trundle into work, cursing it for all I was worth, and trundle back again, drink Stella and waste time on my Mac in the evenings, getting neither richer nor poorer. I felt I was wasting my time. Any job that doesn't allow you one decent holiday a year is not worth doing.

My housemates would ask me time and again if I was going to go. I was full of 'Well, if only' and 'Still thinking about it' but the fact was they were all coining it in except for me. Orange was a qualified technician and Lucie a pole dancer in Spearmint Rhino.
 
How I cursed at having done an Arts degree. All I was cut out for, it seemed, was answering the phone.

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