it's mine, all mine...maybe
Perhaps I'm naive, but never did I think it would be so bloody difficult finding a flat. The lettings system is like none other in London. Now that I've found a place (touch wood) - keep your fingers, toes, and whatever other body parts you can possibly cross (your eyes, maybe? Use your imagination) - crossed that this wanker of a landlord will sign the bloody agreement, give me the keys to the flat, and not hassle me any further. I do not know why the word 'student' should strike fear in anybody's heart. I will be an angel, I swear.So for the next (eep!) 14 working days, I'm back at work, this time in Litigation for two weeks. I might have been away from my desk for far too long, as this morning I couldn't help but wonder in total frustration why lawyers seem to speak another language altogether. ("After the motion, have the order issued and entered." Pardon? I suppose it would be far too simple to say, "Go to court. Get the judge to sign and stamp this piece of paper." I guess I really am just a stupid student after all.)
On a lighter note, words cannot describe how glad I am to see bloody summer clothes out of shops and into clearance bins. I am not a big fan of itty-bitty, candy-coloured strappy camisoles and platform shoes, flared denim or low-cut trousers with bellies and other unsightly bits hanging out of them. Thank God for tweeds, menswear-influenced tailoring, browns, teals, royal purples, two-toned spectator court shoes, belted trenches, and pencil skirts. It's time for most ladies out there to retire the ubiquitous mall-rat look and have a little bit of class.
Or at least, pretend to.
L'Esthete @ 20:52
