Today I filled in an application for a job whose description contains the phrase "assist with the care of the leeches". I think it might be that they said the leeches, rather than just leeches, which attracts me so much. It's as if the leeches are an important part of the job, that they have been there a long time and will remain long after I've been fired.
Hopefully I will get another, easier, leech-less job. My general plan is to work just enough that I can spend the rest of my time in foppish indifference, wearing a velvet jacket and being idly intellectual. I plan to read a perfectly unseemly number of books and be generally debauched.
Actually, I don't. However, I have just finished reading Will Self's Dorian, which is a gloriously dark retelling of Wilde's story of vanity and murderousness. It skims wonderfully close to the original, wallowing in language and witticisms and wonderful degeneration. It's brilliant, you simply must read it. It will make you long for foppishness.
