I'm back. I'm back in country and in job and i have a cupboard on the second floor of my brothers firm that looks out onto some overflowing bins and stinks of Chinese food, and i have a p.a. who's on a different floor altogether, and she brings me weak coffee every morning and then i don't see her again. there's no work, there's no sunlight. i can sit there all day wanking and flicking my jip onto the ceiling, and i might yet, were it not for the fact i'm convinced the room is bugged. i come in at 9, take lunch from 12 to, oh i dunno, 3? go home at five. sometimes i do some work, nothing interesting. at the end of the month i'll get paid, it won't be much, but it's good to work, says my brother, a man needs to work. I've discovered facebook. i've exhausted wikipedia. i've been here a week. i'm beginning to think i'd rather lose my inheritance than have to go through this to get it.

At home i allow myself a sniff of Jameson before bed. he can't deny me that can he? i suppose we'll find out when the random and surprise demand for some urine happens upon me. it's good to be back, to be among the wankers on the street, standing in the morning dampness waiting for the queue in starbucks to go down. Yep. 400 euro gaggia at home. and here i am, so polish bint squeezing brown water into a cardboard cup for me, so that i may sip at it's piping ness as i make my way through the throng of stalled traffic to the office. yeah. it's great to be back.