Hello, my name is Fabulous

The post-work stroll to the train station is like a war zone. Vendors handing out the new afternoon free sheets practically fight for your attention. The London Paper people have their purple and the London Liters have their magenta, and even if you brandish one or the other in your hand, the next 36 rival stockists you pass still try and poke their paper down your jumper.

After yesterday, there'll be no doubt in my mind which one I accept on Blackfriars Bridge. There I was, on the train pulling out of Moorgate, when I happened across page 31 of yesterday's London Lite and found an extract of this very blog. I didn't immediately recognise it, but as I read it and laughed out loud, I thought 'wow, this guy is living my life' and then it dawned on me that it was my own.

So thanks London Lite.

There's a very real chance I might start calling myself a columnist.