8.57 am
When I come into work this morning I am greeted by a 20 ft queue for the lift, and have to endure a short wait before squeezing myself on board with eight other half-recognised faces. Ten seconds in to the journey someone makes the bold decision to initiate conversation.
"I'm going to see The Killers tomorrow."
This is a great opening gambit if you wish to turn an awkward silence into a hostile one within a busy lift. There were nine of us in there and it was unclear whether he was addressing an individual or the entire group. Either way this unprovoked remark was met with the communal contempt that it deserves. No one responds and I start to feel slightly better about the day ahead.
1.36 pm
For lunch I am in the mood for a luxury burger, but am unsure if Byron is an appropriate venue for the solitary diner. Steeling myself for a loner's lunch I head out for the Charing Cross Road. When I arrive at the celebrated hamburger joint I press my face close to the restaurant’s glass front, and see clusters of media workers enjoying their tasty-looking burgers and what appears to be stimulating conversation. The queue is large, like the 20ft queue from this morning condensed into half the space. No way am I eating here. I walk away from Byron and spend forty-five minutes lurching from eatery to eatery in a daze of hunger and indecision. Having wasted virtually my entire lunch hour wandering the streets of Covent Garden, I walk briskly back to the office via the Greggs on Goodge Street, ordering a Sausage and Bean Melt and Mexican Bandit baguette. In my reluctance to say the phrase ‘Mexican bandit’ I garble my order, so have to say it twice. Due to time constraints I eat lunch at my desk, and am castigated by the furtive glances of my colleagues.
