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Before we begin, let me take this opportunity to note the small boy wandering up and down my road murmuring ‘shit…shit…shit…shit’ in a sing-song voice.

Soothing, although it looks like the opening shot of an alternative American arthouse movie wherein the child has either abused his cat or his killed parents and will either be adopted or fall victim to paranoid behaviours and turn tricks, depending on the director.

This week I have started and ended above ground. Literally, in that the dipping of my tube journey to work means I get a peek of the day on both sides of the city, and metaphorically, in that on Monday I had never been to work before and now I have been there five whole times and even have a swipe card.

The literal one might be better, because in the middle of my tube journey every single day I am offered the chance of alighting to go to Buckingham Palace. I don’t know what the equivalent of that is in work terms, but I’m pretty certain it hasn’t happened yet. Or maybe its the sparkling water fountain. Who knows.

In order to blend in on the tube I have practiced credulity in opposition to my usual incredulousness, and sometimes even shouldered people out of the way.

Life as a working girl seems to entail a number of things. None of them will feature here very often, though, because I don’t really think its fair to write about the people who pay you on the internet in an unsanctioned way, and also because lets face it, nobody wants to know about what everyone else does all day.

They are just being polite, and since the very existence of this blog relies on your ongoing indulgence, it feels churlish to push it any further.

My obsession with transport continues, however, so expect, as they say, more on that story later.

Culturally, my week has involved Japanese food twice, Carson McCullers, David Hare, an unduly thorough discussion of the ouvre of one Sarah Jessica Parker, and En Vogue.

Carson McCullers. What a glorious forlorn fringe.

So let me leave you with the synchronised mind-blowings of En Vogue, ensuring us all that our attire need not dictate our profession. (Bloody good thing too. My outfits at work have ranged from early pilgrim settler,to washed-out autumn leaf, via accidentally busty teenager. I don’t think they had me in mind when they stipulated ‘business casual’.)

Have a glorious weekend.

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