Back in the rat race

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Back in the rat race

The sound of a million mice running on wheels wakes up Industry Boy with a jolt. Last week’s marathon session in Miami has given me a mild form of narcolepsy. A recording of a posh lady says: “The next station is Picadilly Circus. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”

It’s depressing being back in London, amongst the rat race being squashed by sweaty men in suits on their way to work.

How ugly are the girls in London? How smelly is this guy’s armpit?

After being surrounded by tanned and toned stunners in Miami, the paleness of Londoners and the unattractive career women with black rings under their eyes is dishearteningly apparent.

I still haven’t washed my right index finger since my night with Briana.

Her smell is barely noticeable now. I turn on my MP3 player, close my eyes and Richie Hawtin transports me straight back to Pawn Shop’s dancefloor in downtown Miami.

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