Thursday - last day of term. Gifts for teachers all bought I thought I'd stop by The Oxford on Kentish Town Road and have an orange juice and lemonade.
Thing is, they sell my favourite beer there - Budvar, Budweiser's far superior brother. I treated myself.
I sat on a bench and thought how little separates me from some of those cabinet ministers.
They went to Oxford, I went to Cambridge (ahem, poly)
They went to public school, I'm a public school dropout.
As I sat musing I saw Hannah; she in the same situation as me. Her property owner said her family could stay in their property and a meeting was had with her, Pathmead's and the council and it was all agreed. However, the housing officer (who is also mine - "I know you think he's nice sue but he's not, he's a slime ball") didn't tell Pathmead's about the new arrangement and Hannah and her husband received their bailiff's order. A whole stressful week ensued and the family got a reprieve the day before bailiff's day. I have no reprieve of course, my property owner wants shot of me, the "council's problem".
The interchange had me hurtling from La La Land to Deep Space Shite in seconds. I went to my local newsagents and bought four bottles of Budvar so that I might have company that evening.
Little separates me from some of those cabinet ministers indeed, except a gulf wider than the Grand Canyon.
Drink to that?
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