Valley of the Trolley Dollies

the trading floor, yesterday afternoon

With the news that big bank profits are back, and we can all look forward to vast bonuses and a reinstatement of the universal equilibrium this year, I have taken time out of laughing like a loon whilst sodomising third world children to post the following from my lair in a hollowed out volcano in Canary Wharf:

“For immediate release:”

Decadence is back. Tips for Top earners # 1.

Have you ever had pate de foie gras smeared all over your erect member, a thumbful of quince jelly plopped on top of your, er, cathedral dome, and the whole lot licked slowly and sensuously off by a young gourmand as the heat of your throbbing parts turn the foie gras to a buttery richness?

I highly recommend it. Especially with a nice meursault to follow.

A strange week, this one just ending.

I went back to the gym on Monday, and had a nice gentle leg workout, then an arms and shoulders set that was a nightmare: I had to drop weights repeatedly, couldn’t keep the form right, straiiiiiinnnned at each rep, and was convinced that I’d be unable to lift my arms come Monday morning.

You know how this story turns out, right? The arms didn’t have so much as an ache, whilst, by Tuesday night, the legs were tired and sore. Weird.

I worked from Home Wednesday - a combination of being fed up schlepping in to the office only to have not much to do, and of wanting the opportunity to sort out the house - the clutter and post-Christmas tidying up of which has been getting me way down.

Again, you know how this one ends up: I cleared a lot of clutter up; physical clutter as well as mental - the shredder got a full workout, and the box file filled, nay, stuffed with disorganised and chaotic paperwork was thinned out. I still want to scan a years worth of payslips so they can be shredded and I can get a step nearer to being paperless, but just tidying things up and knowing, for instance, that my home insurance, and car insurance come up for renewal in Feb, that my home alarm is due for a service before March, and that I don’t actually have that much in the way of stuff going on, seemed to lift a huge weight off my shoulders. I feel like I’m a little more in control of my life.

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In which I am undone by the generosity of friends.

 I wake, at about 05:15 this morning, with the realisation that all is not well. My body feels hot - too hot; feverish, almost, my limbs tired and a little achey, and my head is gently pulsing with that not-quite-a-headache-but-definitely-not-an-absence-of-pain that can mean only one thing: I have a hangover.

Me: The king of clean living, have, what I believe is referred to in certain louche circles as A B*stard Behind The Eyes.

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