The first thing that happens when I get into work is that Jen gets out her croissants, still warm from the baker's in Notting Hill. After we've eaten them with tea, I begin to write about suits. At this time in the morning, when my eyes are still opening and my head feels numb, there's nothing more lovely to write about. It helps that the quality constantly amazes me, that the prices are great and the process ingenious. When I'm done I take the customers' appointments and make sure they have everything they desire. Whatever their shape, there's a suit that fits - that's the motto that drives us.
At the end of the day I walk back through the city. The people and the traffic are sometimes oppressive. The cold and the dark are discouraging. But something quickens and tingles in my blood. My heels click, my heart skips a beat, the Tower stands phallic and empurpled against the sky. I didn't expect it to happen, I don't think I had any choice, but now I'm sure I've fallen... I've fallen hopelessly in love with London.