this job

Despite my moaning about having to cook so much and work so hard... REALLY, who am I kidding? That was my pounding beast of a hangover talking, she's very grumpy. Note to self: don't get hooned on sangria the night before the guests arrive. I've been quietly suffering all day, arranging flowers and doing the shopping and dusting stuff and polishing other stuff, this job is extremely glamorous. No, this job is amazing. I've just finished with the dinner service and I'm sitting right at the front of the boat, it's all very Titanic-esque, sans Leonardo, avec iPhone, 2013, hello. It's pitch black, the sky is filled with stars and all I can hear is the water against the sides as we make our way down to Ponza. This should be a good trip, three quarters of the guests are ALL younger than me, which kind of makes me the boss of them, and they're teenagers, I was a teenager not so long ago (fine, it was quite a while ago, shurrup), I know how the awkward little creatures operate. Right-o jolly pip I say ol' chap goodnight