Libraries: body mass indexes: referendums

Got it. Goddamn. (That's a good 'goddamn,' like the americans say it, with a sort of funny hand-signal and a baseball hat... anyway, what I mean is that I'm pleased.) I went to the interview and gave the folk a lot of stuff about how much I adore the public, which I don't really - well, a bit, but I'm not entirely - I'm not one of those public-lovers - I don't mean I wouldn't do it in public, I just mean - oh, forget it. I'm glad to get the job, even though it's an hour's walk from my house. Especially since it's a hour's walk from my house. Need to lose a bit of weight. I've got a body mass index of 22. I think.
Oh, the French Referendum. Bad business, that. I think. Neil Kinnock says it is, and he's probably right. Even though he would have expelled me. I wouldn't have needed to join Militant back then. Unilateral disarmament... god. Them were the days. Nationalisation. Michael Foot. And that. God. (That was a 'god' of nostalgia, unhappiness and looking into the distance with a world-weary smile, rather than any reference to a mythical supreme being. Supreme beings don't have anything to do with the Labour Party, cf. The Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists. Thank g... Oh dear. Sorry. Anyway.)