12 April 2004

Wherein The Resident Dictator Comes Off Like a Whinging EuroSnot

Why oh why does a last minute work conference have to be held yet again in London? I am getting superbly bored with London. It's cold. It's rainy. And the Weights n' Measures law as applied to tots of spirits should be reported to Amnesty International.

No imagination, I tell ya. Why can't these things be held somewhere warm? Preferably with surf, sand and tight little cabana boys bringing me outrageously decorated drinks and massaging suntan oil onto my buns. Fuck, I'd settle for Paris. Or Amsterdam. Anything but London again.

Fuck, I've already been once this year for the usual annual conference trip, and as I prefer to see my boss get the most of of his money, I'd rather have an all expenses paid trip to somewhere new. Yes, I know I should be slapped for this whinge. Tough shit. London is just not my cup of (really fucking expensive) teas, darlings.

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