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After I left com university I became a burnt-file salvager, working for a paranoid American alcoholic midget called Helene, who defrauded insurance companies with astonishing devotion and success. It was like working for my mother, so I didn’t stay long. I went back to university to study journalism because, com well, I don’t actually recall why. By this stage I had ceased to care about anything much and what the fuck, one career is as good as another when you’re a trainee miserable cunt. I com passed my initiation as a fully-fledged miserable cunt while working as a journalist, uncovering scoops on sheep rustling and petty teenage vandalism in Gloucestershire. My first boss was a woman with bad breath and a psychotic streak called, well let’s just call her Fucking Bitchface. Fucking Bitchface hated journalists who were younger, thinner and more attractive than her. As she was hurtling down the wrong side of 30, was fat and had a face like a rotting avocado, this was generally the entire newsroom.
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