a day in the life of

I want to do the Live In London Overwhelmingly Popular Saffa Exodus thing one day. I do, perhaps when the South Africans have all moved onto Dubai – new place of refugeeism – I will do it.

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 Slug & Lettuce Slut & Legless. Imbibing ten snakebites and eight tequilas, while old Bad Teeth In Essex over yonder is giving me the once over.

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.

One day.