The secret of her success
MY 1980s began in the summer of 1980, when I was dumped by my boyfriend, the same day I learnt my university degree grade, a 2:2. In tears, I walked the streets of London.
I was an agency temp and the offices that hired me must have been put out by my weeping. Nowadays, nobody wants to be called a secretary, but I liked temping. I had done a shorthand/typing course in my gap year and the cash provided me with a nice time — Saturday shopping trips to the clothes stalls of Portobello, bottles of frascati in wine bars, taxis home from parties.
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