Without being too predictable:
8:00am – Ate a crumpet. Put on lots of dark clothes.
8:30am – Got beaten up by a chav at Victoria Junction. I told her to 'move out of my way' and she pulled my hair and told me 't'pu'a so' innit cos may do''av beef wiff vat'.
9:00am – Arrive workplace. I'm surrounded by foreigners working the fax machine. I am the toner guy. My extremely exhilarating job involves ejecting the toner cartridge from the clutches of the printing mechanism, dispensing it in the Used Toner receptacle and replacing with a new one. I earn 3.50 an hour, writing cheques my body can't cash.
10:00am – tea time, oh delight - Scones.
12:00 noon – The person with which I am working is a Spanish infidel. Or should I say, Thpanith perthon here to learn Hinglith.
He wath a thecurity gwardo in Barthelone. He athked me if I'd be tho kind ath to move my chair five thenimetres to the left becauthe I am dithracting him. He's an ath fathe.
2:00pm – It's raining. How do I haul ten packets from Tesco Canary Wharf to Clapham in this dogshit weather?
3:00pm - The Thpanith dude ith thtaring at my noombies. These hot-blooded Latino types sure beat the crap out of the cement-lipped Brits who reckon my boobs look like two dobs of ice cream scooped from the tub.
4:30pm – I shall celebrate the ending of this working day with a case of alcohol. Three Toner refuels, four paper jams and lots of Polish people shouting at me has made me a walking mental institution.
5:00pm – I am at the
6:00pm - Bad Teeth In Essex touched my bottom. Why did that feel so good? I'm homesick. Bring me another vodka, no mixer please.
11:00pm - I don't know what the fuck has happened since that last vodka, but bugger it - I love Bri'in! England, wow, I love you. As for Bad Teeth in Essex, please stop following me to the bathrooms buddy. The tube has closed. How to get home?
11:10pm – Ah. A taxi. I am going with a few foreign people from the Eastern Bloc to skinny dip in the Serpentine in Hyde Park. They're washing; I'm boozing wet and naked. Who owns this city now, bitch?
10:10pm – Skinny dipping went down like Colonel Mustard in the billiard room with the lead piping. Got arrested by a bobby. Luckily Scotland Yard took it lightly, and gave me a lift home. With ten Tesco's bags.
Midnight: Ooh scones, crumpets, Jaffa cakes, Spotted Dick, Toad in the Hole, bangers & mash. I love the munchies in England, because even though it doesn't taste of anything, I'm so shitfaced I can't taste it anyway.
1:00am – What is Bad Teeth In Essex doing in my house?
1:10am: Hold on a second, actually. Why is he in my bed?
2:00am – Tequila and snakebites worn off. How the fuck do I get him outta here?
2:20am – I know. I'll throw a crumpet outside onto the pavement.
2:21am – Predictably, he jumped on it. And I pretended not to hear his incessant knocking on my door after he devoured it right there, on Windmill Drive.
4:00am – Dreaming of toners, Buckingham Palace and Scunthorpe Wells.
5:00am – I might go to France for the weekend.