Glorious sunshine means that I'm finally relaxing. After a horrid week. Honestly, if I wanted a job in telesales, I'd get some phone skills.
It's been one of those weeks when, if I'm not on the phone, I'm picking up voicemail, while being asked three questions, and watching the scary emails flood in.
I've started to crack. My nervous twitch is back. As is my stutter. As is a curious inability to do any actual work, but simply stare at the oncoming horror with wide, fluffy-bunny eyes.
Luckily, I've discovered an amazing thing. The Atlantic Bar and Grill. It's like eating in the Titanic... at the bottom of the sea.
You would think that hiding away in an underground art deco restaurant is escapism. And you'd be right. There's no light, no mobile phone signals, and no one can get past the door whores without a booking.
It's like a bond villain's underground lair. Only with a fantastic wine list.
PS: Daquiris. They taste just like cold lemsip.
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