The departmental newsletter arrived in my in-tray. It describes the departure of my predecessor and the exciting arrival of yours truly, who it describes as being "direct from the UK".
I've never been described as direct from anywhere before; it has an air of urgency about it, as though I've just stepped off a plane fresh as a daisy and eager to impart my skills to these colonials down under. Actually it makes me feel a bit like some sort of product going cheap in a factory warehouse, a hair-removal cream perhaps. They're going to be disappointed when I don't do exactly what it says on the tin.
At lunchtime I kept my promise to go swimming in the university pool and remembered immediately why I'm a member of a private heathclub back in the UK. The changing rooms were communal and the other swimmers were, well, university students, who have an irritating capacity to drink like fishes without putting on weight about their thighs. On top of that there were no curtains on the shower cubicles and the locker didn't spit my $1 back out, it kept it.
Still, the swimming cap was quite a look, especially once I'd stuffed most (but not all) of my hair underneath and teamed it with a pair of goggles. I felt like a member of the australian olympic swimming team but looked like something from a Warner Brothers' cartoon. Afterwards I got a coffee and some sushi and sloped back to the office, where I continued the health drive by resisting the jar of biscuits in the corner.
My body is a temple. Like Angkor Wat.
Good keywords: swimming, university, sushi, olympic, resist
Bad keywords: coffee, biscuits, thighs
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