Several notes from the summer weeks spent poaching in filth on Leicester Square.
1) Excuse the TMI but a woman just sat down next to me on the tube and the scent of her fanny instantly punched me in the back of the throat. Summer is here!
2) Has anyone done any research in to Trench Crotch? Is it a thing? Because the thermometer in my shop reads 38 degrees, the fan gave up the ghost a few weeks ago, and our chairs are leather, so… #YouDoTheMath #ItAintPretty
3) I’m currently sat in a metal box, that is literally 1 x 2 meters. There’s no awning, or any kind of shade whatsoever, so between the hours of 11am and 2.30pm I am in the direct glare of the throbbing sunlight, and I don’t want to brag about my grade ‘C’ science GCSE, but metal is a conductor…
If you then take in to consideration that on top of this, I am having to contend with hoards of tourists clawing at me like I’m the last lump of hot meat left in a zombie riddled dystopia, you may be able to begin to understand my plight.
If I wasn’t in such a sun-stroke induced state of fever, I would say that I know exactly how Kerry Washington felt in Django Unchained when Samuel L. Jackson locked her up in a sweat box for giving him sass talk. Except allegedly, I am a free woman.