at a work conference at a *very* posh venue (one whitehall place, for londoners – yup, that’s some wicked old architecture. gloved servers, tailcoated doormen and all) we each had a little box of mints at our individual place settings…

and i had absolutely *no* shame in openly scavenging afterwards for people’s leftovers, swooping in like a vulture on roadkill.

oh, and i also ate the brown sugar lumps at the coffee station. this will surprise absolutely no one who’s ever suffered the embarrassment of eating out at a restaurant with me!

frank black – sugar daddy

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