Last night was spent looking at my new neighbourhood on Google maps. You know, when you put the little yellow man in the map and it miraculously turns to reality. I think I like where I'm going to live. It's a bit rundown, a bit common, but with a certain edgy elegance. There is a
graffito down my road saying
Vive les Squats. I've got a bus stop right across the road from my place. The local laundrette is about three minutes away, and the joy of Google maps is that I've been able to see how much a wash is because the price is stuck on the window. I've found my
boulangerie too. Sorted. I like to know where the small parts of my life will be anchored.
And then I was woken at about 5am by an inexplicable case of the trots. I seem to have poisoned myself with excessive Dairylea consumption. I skipped breakfast (this was easy enough; no food in the house) and have just self-medicated with a large white Americano and a jam doughnut. It's what the doctor would suggest, I'm sure.
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