Basement Whatever

A bit of extravagantly British writing that is fun to read.

To tell you the truth, I don’t remember her last name, she had just turned twenty and always dressed in black, black dresses, black tights, black coats, as if she were attending a funeral rather than working as an office junior.

And more:

When I got into the office, Lynda was holding up a message, a ‘fax’ had come in on our super new Fax machine, it was in some weird script, but typed out rather than handwritten and ink. The message was to the effect once we managed to decipher it, that I was to meet my death in three months

More here.