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I’m writing this from my new home, which is decidedly more subterranean than I am used to. I applied for a job at a lovely hotel, and lucky me, I got it. Part of that job means that I now live in the hotel. Or, to be more precise, under it.
This has several advantages, I am no longer over an hour from the city centre, I no longer live with my disgusting first year housemate and his worrying masturbatory habits. And I don’t have to write my novel on scraps of paper on my way to work.
Downsides include, the minor ant problem (a result of ground level windows) the incredible loudness of the footsteps over my head, and the fact that I am now always at work, and can no longer go home and slob around it my pyjamas.
But hey, I live under a gorgeous building (one that features in my novel) and I’ve got plenty of time to write now.
Which is what I’m going to do right now.

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