My stroll from station to desk takes me down a street lined with shops aimed, I presume, at the Sunday Times Rich List. Antiques, art, designer clothes, pointless ointments, silly chairs - and nothing bears a price sticker. A dangerous sign.
If it wasn't for a couple of charity shops on this road, the cheapest thing on offer would be a £20 lip balm. And these shops are wonderful - one is called Octavia and is filled with designer labels I would never have considered being able to afford. Thing is, I believe the Tories are all moving to this neck of the woods and it worries me slightly to think I might be striding about in SamCam's Nicole Farhi trousers. Although I would probably only fit into her maternity wear.
Sadly, my walk back from the office (at 11pm) was not so enjoyable today. I fell up a set of slippy steps and I am now nursing a hand full of ground-in gravel and a grazed knee, the likes of which I've not seen since my rollerbooting days.
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