After a lovely fishy dinner and a shower and clean bed sheets and watching Dylan Moran, this is a nice Sunday. It’s half six. That’s good. I don’t like Sundays. The greater the speed with which they elapse, the happier I am.
I’ve gotten really into chocolate milk lately, which is awful.
I really do not want to go to my Debs. Like, really. It’s just too much like hard work. And I’m not anti-social, I’m really not. I am not one to turn down alcohol/ a night out/ a fancy dress, but this is just errrghh. Do not want. Also, boys are crap.
Emma, you’re impossible. You can sing that one, sunshine.