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to… debbie_wright@littlewoods/manchester.co.uk

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re… London calling

Two days in London and I’m in advertising. I went to a temp agency last week and they got me into this place called Miller Shanks. They did those shite ads for Kimbelle – you know, the Artist Formerly Known as Ginger Spice bunjee-jumping, looking like someone shoved a high voltage cable up her arse. I’m working for the CEO (posh for managing director) who spends his whole time staring at my nipples like I just invented the things. It was only supposed to be for a couple of weeks but it’s turned permanent. Next week I start as a PA in the creative department. That’s the bit that has the ideas, but all I’ve seen them do so far is fifty grams of charlie. Some of the lads are a laugh though. One of them thinks he’s on for a shag, but he looks too much like Bart Simpson (overbite, spiky hair and slightly jaundiced). Mind you, after a few Stellas he starts looking like Brad Pitt, so who knows? Anyway, it’s fucking la-la land here. No one does any work. They just talk about it. Yesterday two secretaries beat ten shades of shit out of each other. Think that’s why I ended up getting offered the permanent job. How’s Salford since I left? Seen that sad twat, Terry? Tell him if he comes anywhere near London I’ll break his other thumb as well. Write/call when you can. Miss you – Lolx