Seven days make one weak...
From the bowels of Lincolnshire, I was the only person in my school year to get work experience down in London. Everyone was veh jealous, especially as I'd ommitted to tell them that I'd be staying with my aunt, and not in some swanky hotel.

The company shared offices based round the back of King's Cross, which has, although you may not believe me, been cleaned up significantly over the past 15 years.

Knowing nothing of London, the name "Kings Cross" meant nothing to me then, I just thought the Big Smoke was a pretty homogenous, denser, sootier version of my little village back home where they filmed Mary Poppins and Oliver - so the week's events had lasting impacts on my impressions of our fair capital.

Day 1: Arrive in King's Cross.
Mission - get to my aunt's.
"Fresh-off-the-boat", I was greeted by a charming gentleman, who offered me a place to stay, and also some money for my bottom.

Day 2: First day at work.
Mission - get back to my aunt's from work experience (which, I had soon realised, would revolve solely around a staple-gun, cooing mature PAs, and the photocopier).
A scrawnier, but rather better dressed chap than Day 1 offered me a substantial finders fee to put him back in touch with his friend Charlie, and asks me where my gear is. I don't know Charlie, and I've stashed all my gear at my aunt's, therefore really can't be of much use, and make my excuses. He wants to come with me to my aunt's, but I think it's a little forward for me, a guest myself, to bring visitors back.

Day 3:
Mission - See Day 2, minus the look of somebody offering a personalised FriendsReunited service.
A lady of limited aesthetic appeal (who seemed to have had an accident involving quite a lot of stale urine and the loss of her front teeth) offers to relieve me of a few thousand gametes in exchange for the price of a week's worth of school dinners. At this point, my gametes and their purpose built housing units retract into my abdomen, and I pray she can't run.

Day 4:
Mission - repeat Day 3, minus wee-smell exposure.
Greeted by a delightful, albeit scrawny youth, offering me his bottom in exchange for lucre. This is distinctly unappealing at a number of levels, so I politely decline, and exctract myself from the conversation after he has liberated me of 10 pence (probably needed to phone home).

Day 5:
Mission - repeat Day 3.
Two officers of the law descends upon me, enquiring into my current state of employment, address, whereabouts of family and whether I was selling premium rate access to my bottom.

Day 6: Last day of work - I swear never to work in an office again.
Mission - repeat Day 5 without attracting the attentions of the Metropolitan Transport Police.
Some chap has found the errant Charlie - so glad he's alright! I give him a full description of Charlie's other friend and hope they find each other soon - this fellow seemed really quite anxious.

Day 7: Mission - leave city, get home without re-enactments of Days 1-6.
I sit exhausted in the train that will take me home, examining my curiously black nasal discharge. As I stand up to let somebody take a seat, a rather fashionably dressed youth accidentally bumps into me.
It is only once the train has pulled away, and the ticket inspector comes calling that I realise that the youth must have accidentally knocked my wallet clean out of my pocket, seen it on the floor, and then got off the train to give it to the nice policemen at the station. However, this does render me with no money, ticket, or identification. I am collected at Peterborough station by two policemen, who spend the rest of the night on the phone with my parents.

So naturally, I moved down to an office job in London at the first opportunity and have lived here for close to 10 years now.
(jangle, Thu 10 May 2007, 12:05, Reply)