young twenty-something making one mistake at a time with my kooky but hilarious friends, who all wear fabulous vintage clothes as we Instagram ourselves artfully smoking liquorice rollies on the steps of our five-storey Victorian mansion on Peckham Rye and play at being poor whilst our parents subsidise our astronomical London rent.
Then I go back to scouring the automated email from the jobsite until my eyes sting and wait for the phone to ring – desperate to see a withheld number because that’s my temping agency asking me to sit behind another reception desk and stare into space all day for eight pounds an hour and listening to everyone telling me that I’m not working hard enough because this didn’t happen to them, they could always pay their rent, it wasn’t like this in their day and ‘have you tried’ – fuck – have you tried writing a letter to the editor?
I have given writing a blog some thought. Thank you.