Today, I realised that, what with the next rent installment and whatnot approaching, I probably need a couple of dozen quids buffer in the old bank account, so I decided I need to do some work in order to acquire said cash, and mooched on down to a random West Street agency to see what I could find.

I was sitting there on some modular office seating by a small wood-laminate coffee table. Beside me was a water cooler and a nicely trimmed plant in a pot. People in ties and shirts and shiny shoes sat at desks typing on computers. Surveying this scene, a revelation came to me:

I am a scruffy bastard.

Nobody else had burn marks on their jumper, holes in their trousers, or mud and engine oil on their boots. They all looked like they had washed their faces this morning. probably their hair too. Am I really this much messier in appearance than the entire British workforce, or have I just walked into the cleanest place in the world?

Anyway. Steps to take to resolve problem:
- Wash the dinner from my smart "signing on day" trousers.
- Acquire posh shirt from charity shop. The "Ciro Citierio" label on my old sixth form shirt is no longer enough to qualify this as "the smart shirt", thanks to multiple holes.
- Polish boots.