Ladies. Gentlemen....
...The pimping has begun.
Next: Alloy wheels.
In other news - it is hot. It is sticky. It is unpleasant. It is the kind of hot where you have 45 things to do and you do approximately 3 of them before overheating like an old car engine, collapsing on the sofa and falling asleep for 3 hours, during which time you will thrash around like a mad thing because it is too hot even when asleep, and when you wake up, you find that you are hotter than you were before, the vest top you are wearing in order to try to stay cool is twisted attractively round your head, and you are only wearing one earring, having inadvertently swallowed the other one.
Oh, and it's so hot that you develop an impossibly large pimple in a place that is too small to accomodate said pimple, such as the space where your nostril meets the rest of your face. And the pressure it puts on your entire head is such that all you can think about all day is how you would quite like to burn your face off, using some kind of impressive soldering machine that is used for fusing metals together.
I do not like the heat. It makes me irrational and cranky. It turns me into the sort of person who stomps around in a rage for no reason, demanding that total strangers bring me glasses of juice.
And it is not even sunny! Bah.
Inky is happy though. And well fed.
Not much has been going on that is interesting or that I want to report.
Except to say that the rabbit I accumulated in a bid to help out my brother, who was moving into a pet-free flat, is a bastard. We bought her a really expensive, big run for the garden, so that she can frolick about and suchlike. She has started chewing it up for no reason. Bastard. So today I put in a giant plank of wood so that she could chew that instead.
I just found her, sitting defiantly on the plank of wood, resolutely chewing the side of the run.
I am going to make her into a stew later.
She's quite pretty though.
I was thinking earlier about how I am tall, blonde, 24, female, living in london, cute, etc etc. Maybe scratch the last one. But anyway, surely I should be spending my time in a suitably glamourous fashion, such as in a bar sipping cocktails and wearing pearls. Instead I am standing in my garden, yelling at an animal who does not care about anything I have to say.
But I do have a pink car stereo now. I am fly.
I would like to end today's entry with an inspirational quote by my hero (from today's Guardian Weekend magazine), Dizzee Rascal:
'If you are going to work, you may as well follow your heart, because nothing in life is easy, and if it's going to be hard, it might as well be what you really want.'
I heart him. And his delightful collection of Air Force Ones.
Rawk.
...The pimping has begun.
Next: Alloy wheels.
In other news - it is hot. It is sticky. It is unpleasant. It is the kind of hot where you have 45 things to do and you do approximately 3 of them before overheating like an old car engine, collapsing on the sofa and falling asleep for 3 hours, during which time you will thrash around like a mad thing because it is too hot even when asleep, and when you wake up, you find that you are hotter than you were before, the vest top you are wearing in order to try to stay cool is twisted attractively round your head, and you are only wearing one earring, having inadvertently swallowed the other one.
Oh, and it's so hot that you develop an impossibly large pimple in a place that is too small to accomodate said pimple, such as the space where your nostril meets the rest of your face. And the pressure it puts on your entire head is such that all you can think about all day is how you would quite like to burn your face off, using some kind of impressive soldering machine that is used for fusing metals together.
I do not like the heat. It makes me irrational and cranky. It turns me into the sort of person who stomps around in a rage for no reason, demanding that total strangers bring me glasses of juice.
And it is not even sunny! Bah.
Inky is happy though. And well fed.
Not much has been going on that is interesting or that I want to report.
Except to say that the rabbit I accumulated in a bid to help out my brother, who was moving into a pet-free flat, is a bastard. We bought her a really expensive, big run for the garden, so that she can frolick about and suchlike. She has started chewing it up for no reason. Bastard. So today I put in a giant plank of wood so that she could chew that instead.
I just found her, sitting defiantly on the plank of wood, resolutely chewing the side of the run.
I am going to make her into a stew later.
She's quite pretty though.
I was thinking earlier about how I am tall, blonde, 24, female, living in london, cute, etc etc. Maybe scratch the last one. But anyway, surely I should be spending my time in a suitably glamourous fashion, such as in a bar sipping cocktails and wearing pearls. Instead I am standing in my garden, yelling at an animal who does not care about anything I have to say.
But I do have a pink car stereo now. I am fly.
I would like to end today's entry with an inspirational quote by my hero (from today's Guardian Weekend magazine), Dizzee Rascal:
'If you are going to work, you may as well follow your heart, because nothing in life is easy, and if it's going to be hard, it might as well be what you really want.'
I heart him. And his delightful collection of Air Force Ones.
Rawk.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
This journal has made me realise that Saturdays Guardian is still sat unread on a pile on my desk and it's already Thursday... bah!