Shoeless Lackey and the Identity Scandal

So your Lackey, for reasons undivulged but possibly involving sexual intercourse, alternatively involving a nice lie down far from the scary yuppies, but definitely involving not nearly enough jelly beans, spent the night away from home last night. I made sure I packed my over-night bag as carefully as I could - I fished the toothbrush out from the toilet cistern where I hide it so the roaches can't get at it, and threw it in the least stained-up takeaway bag I could find. Then I threw in some actual different clothes and stuff too.

This was all fine, and I was feeling pretty confident, if a little low on jelly beans, when I woke up this morning. I threw on the clean clothes, brushed my teeth, and hit the road to head into my demonic telegraphical corporation for another exciting day's blagging and blogging. Of course when I walked out the door I realised I had forgotten a couple of things - my shoes. And when I got to work I realised I had no id card, and Young Eddie refused to issue me a temp card on the basis that I was clearly some homeless vagabond. I thanked him, for vagabond at least sounds like the highest class of the homeless derelicts, and trudged away, barefoot and identity free.

I found a library where they're still nice enough to talk to homeless people, which is where I'm typing this, while I consider the irony that most morings when I have slept in a culvert or under a dumpster, noone seems to notice. Never again shall I under estimate the worth of shoes and id cards. Now for a free coffee from that van. Only gotta wait seven hours...