Three things offended my delicate sensibilities today. In the following order:
First, the grafitti in the lift which takes me into the bowels of the earth to catch my morning métro:
“Pas heureux chez nous? Allez donc crever de faim chez vous!”
Glad to see the spirit of fraternité is alive and kicking in the twenty first century.
Second, old greasy bum is back on a billboard near you (shameless recycling on the part of the Galéries Lafayette) and almost succeeded in putting me off my brioche.
Third, work. I don’t talk about work. It’s my new rule. But if I say I decided it might be prudent to revamp the CV today, that’s not really talking about work, is it?