Yeah, it's a high old life.

[x_pete_wisdom]

You'd have to be pretty fucking thick to think my game was all James Bond, but still, a morning like this one is just fucking criminal. Two hours going over transcripts of the last month's worth phone conversations from some dull cunt who we suspect might have links with the Turkish mafia (only on my desk because there's a rumour that they're trafficing in mutant organs, and right now it's nothing more than a rumour), and then another three hours in the meeting from hell - PC Plod from the Branch was over, concerned about the secuity at, of all things, a Breast Cancer awareness marathon walk in Battersea Park this weekend. Apparently, there are celebs involved, or something, so it's got profile.

And these days, terrorism also means mutant terrorism, so I get dragged off as an advisor on threat risk. Three fucking hours staring at the ceiling while some flatfoot drones on about about terrorism countermeasures. Three fucking hours without a bastard cigarette...

Comments

[x-pete.livejournal.com]

I'm going to have arsenic put in your champagne when you get over here.

[x-celsis.livejournal.com]

Darling, with the cheap shampoo you'd order, it would only improve the flavor.