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On 2003-08-03 at 12:31 p.m.... Somehow last night, in between drinking complex and lurid cocktails and talking about everything from the self-perpetuation of market forces to whether Sigourney Weaver is better than Felicity Kendal (a hands down victory, if you ask me), I managed to get a job. Result. I do, however, need a proper career, because I tend to amble through the company of stupidly successful people (I live with a PhD, a CEO and a Harley St scion, ffs), and it makes me feel insecure about my BA(fucking Hons, thank you very much). And all the jobs I want seem to be in London, so I'll inevitably have to move Down There. Oh, well. Speaking of which, I'm contemplating my entry form for the Marathon and wondering if I should lie outrageously about my times in order to secure a place although, thinking about it, Radcliffe-baiting's probably not in my best interest, considering the woman is not human. We (my friends and I, not me and Paula Radcliffe) are going to run for a charity, and are currently basing our choices on who gives out the best freebies and/or post-race massages. I myself will settle for anything around the early-to-mid three hour mark, and hoofing around the Canterbury coast next weekend. Right. I'm off to watch Terminator 3. A lot.
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