Today is Tuesday. I write the day because it gives me a point of reference to refer to. 

So we made drink dates with Titties and Jum, then cancelled and rearranged for tomorrow night for din dins at the Brick Lane residency.
I just bought the office a bunch of mince pies. The first one of the year definitely means the start of the ‘festive season’ for me.
I’m really thirsty now though, way too much short crust pastry.
Today so far we’ve had a meeting about a brief, drank a lot of tea, and worked on another brief.
Trying to drum up some interesting things. Oh a friend from Budapest wrote a magical poem. My favourite lines are:
“The greatest people of the world are on the move,

All that’s left to do is take their hand and run.”

It’s so great isn’t it? I think that’s what G and I do. Recognise the great people and metaphorically hold their hands and run through a metaphorical meadow come fairground. Sounds fantastic when you think of it like that, but I guess that’s what good poems do. Give you such imaginative parallels to everyday thoughts. I think everyone needs to write poems. I’m going to write one now.
Oh red mug.
Oh Red Mug, you’ve sat by me all day,
Why are you so dirty?
Has your cleanliness gone astray?
Oh Red Mug, you’re a bit smelly
You’re covered in soup
And there’s more on you than in my belly.
Oh Red Mug, I’m worried about you,
And what’s this poem in aid of?
I really haven’t a clue.
Oh Jennifer, you nearly had us, throwing around thoughts of illustrative metaphors and creative writing, then you wrote a poem about a soupy mug. 
If you must know, I had some Sri Lankan (spelling?) chicken coconutty (go away red squiggles, coconutty is a great word) broth for lunch. Made by Tesco.
Keep reading that poem. It’s really terrible. Or is it abstract like Tracey Emin? Actually i’m quite proud. It’s kinda disjointed and about my lunch.
Last night G and I came home, but first dipped into H&M, realised we can’t afford anything, then left. Oh no I bought a bra. 
We discussed about how the fancy white lanterns on Oxford Circus don’t light up. Silly lanterns.
I fee like something happened newsworthy on the tube but I can’t remember so we’ll press on (sorry about the seconds of life you lost/ still losing by being told nothing happened on the tube there was a crocodile not really sorry).
We got home, with all good intentions of doing work, but the MARTINS BITCH made the bed so snuggly that we passed out like little advertising fairy sugar lumps with our hot water bottles (i’m depicting a very Disney-esque image of what was probably very gross as we gorged on peanut butter and Ryvita then passed out in a crumby mess.) Then we watched Katy Perry cry for a bit. That was nice.
THIS MORNING was a hurricane of events like teeth brushing, hair drying, body washing, and Oyster card locating. Tomorrow we have an important meeting with some important people and our good friend Jake about some important business. Cannot reveal deets on here as I now understand my readership is expansive- e.g. the FBI, Obama and Father Christmas himself most definitely subscribe.
There was a pug on the tube.

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