Il est huit heures à seoul il est minuit au mali, quelle heure est-il au paradis?

I have launched a charm campaign on my building’s cleaning lady. I am completely convinced that the world is ultimately run by cleaning ladies, concierges and secretaries. So, since my building has a permenant cleaning lady, i am determinded to keep on her very good side. So far, she has procured a sofa for me, seemingly from out of nowhere. She seems bored more than anything. Today, while cleaning my flat, she gave me a lecture on what is wrong with the “yanks.” As it is a country with undeniably countless problems, her lecture stretched well past the half hour mark. She mainly expressed her sympathy for the poor black people left to drown in new orlean’s swamp, but she added her annoyance at those visiting yanks who dont understand how normal sockets function. This led in a free-associating way to a lengthy description of the weather in this part of the country and why it specifically always rains on the cleaning lady’s birthday. Hmmm. At least i did establish that, as in russia, the people’s common-and-invariable heat will be turned on the first of october. This was welcome news!
The building manager also gave me the required residency documents to open a bank account. It was a bit complicated. Apparently you are not supposed to open bank accounts in the united kingdom if you have lived in 4 different cities in three years. Finnally the bankers relented and gave me an international tax free account. Does that mean i dont have to pay taxes? But now i think tiredness is causing me to halucinate.
I spent much of the day in starbucks, sponging off the free internet i can illegally pick up thanks to this computer. I tried to pull off the same stunt at café nero, but it didnt work, i couldnt get around the required paying connection. So, i headed back to starbucks and its more porous system. I also consummed enough double espressos to survive seemingly indefinately without sleep. Perhaps i should begin to vary my routine and try some of the smoothies. But they are 2 bloody pounds, and it seems vaguely obscene to pay such a price for a gulp of synthetic orange juice. So perhaps i will just not sleep and turn myself into a sleep-immune thatcher-like productive machine. But more likely, i will msn.