Wednesday, March 25, 2009

You sleep eight hours (if you're lucky, and I am), you work eight hours (and possibly even enjoy it, and I do) and then you're free to leave the premises, for your daily instalment of what's called 'getting a life'.

Here in Germany, almost at the end of March, I watch snow falling lazily past the windows. Shivering at the bus-stop is not my idea of getting a life. How very much more agreeable it was leaving the office in Media City.

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