So I’m sitting on the train on the way home from work just listening to the ipod and not bothering to read any of the crumpled London Paper or London Lites littered around the carriage, when I get a text saying I’m in the paper. For a split second I think it must just be a gig listing buried in the back somewhere, before I suddenly remember answering a load of questions for a friend at work who knows someone who writes for the London Paper just before xmas.
Grabbing a copy as I got off the train not only confirmed that this was what the text was indeed referring to, but also that the promise of not printing our real names had been ignored, and that they’d also printed where we live and where we work. Thanks.
There’s also an online version here if you missed it and remotely give a toss: http://www.thelondonpaper.com/cs/Satellite/london/love/article/1157158442231?packedargs=aid%3D1157158442231%26suffix%3DArticleController