2 April - Saltwater & Signs

So the world is watching the G20 and I'm taking the piss out of silly bankers I know who, upon having been instructed to dress down to escape possible lynching my angry mobs, are wearing jeans and gucci loafers but worst of all is their shirts. Nobody in any other industry apart from possibly politics, or estate agents? wears monogrammed shirts. The fools. Blending with the crowds means wearing salmon pink jeans or the basic attire of a yaching holiday with a stop over in St Tropez. Lucky for them maybe the protesters don't get handed out leaflets with drawings of what to look out for in a fiancial services industry worker. Or they don't care any way.

My doom and gloom has no origin in the big downturn crisis or whatever it is, but it's certainly deep if I greet with relief the news that a friend has headed home with period pains at lunchtime on the day that we're supposed to go to Koko's to see a dance band we rather like. Koko smoko, I was thinking that the only thing that would have made the evening bearable was going for Japanese at asakusa first. This is no reflection on my friend's company which I cherish but I'm in no mood to go anywhere, too tired and there's about ten posts prior to this one which aren't properly written. Ah well.