got one of those things on my face. Zoe got her hair suck in it the other day and it went all ‘frizzy’. I also get that look which says it’s about as likely as reversing the mantle over a crisp. I got beard. yeah, but hang on, I got bags as well and I got stuff on me that I can scrape off now. it’s physical embodiment of markup language and it’s flapping about in a carrier bag in the back of the office. shut up. it’s not even validated and its poking old photos of Germaine Greer into my foot, like saying ‘go on then, go on. you’ll never finish me you know. I haven’t even been invented yet – it’s 1974. HAAHAHAHAAA!’.
so I get on a level, but I’m hoping for some kind of truck to take me away and put me in Northamtonshire or somewhere so I get to see Look East but don’t have internet access, because that’s doing me in. I should be having a right laugh, I mean, it’s not like I’ve just stepped out a salon or something. I take a quick look at the corner of the trellis and Mr Potter lobs a jam grenade into the sun, which doesn’t help at all. if I had a leg of lamb for every time it got throttled on the ring road I’d be blistering into a watery cat flap and shooting up red bush tea. it’s not rocket science. just normal science, but with human music in the background.