So according to the news, a jolly great ginormous thud of six inches, is about to fall upon Yorkshire by tomorrow. My favourite!! The Heavens will open, and the Dear Lord, will throw down a delicious creamy white mass of Christmasy delight…and it will be six to eight inches THICK!! (OOooh, Naughty! Naughty!)
The best thing about being in Yorkshire right now, is that if the inches actually hit the ground, I can gracefully strut up to my local pub, and get free RUM!!! FREE RUM!! It’s like all my favourite things in one!! It finally feels like Christmas. The air is filled with that magical buzz. I have no knickers and tinsel on and the smell of Crimbo is all around. (Well something smells…ha!) It’s my favourite time of year and fuck it…I LOVE RUM!! Gimme, Gimme, Gimme! I’m SO excited!! Therefore, now if i don’t get the magic ‘thick six’ … I’m gonna be seriously ninja narked off, as it will simply be messing with my much needed RUMMY intake. Delicious!
I’ve just been trying to build an easel for my dad. It’s the hardest fucking thing, i’ve ever tried to figure out in my whole entire LIFE!! It’s just random planks of wood, that you’re supposed to screw together perfectly, and make stand upright, so you can put a canvas on it, and try to be Picasso. I’m in a black baby nighty, covered in massive red love hearts. I have a boob job. This Bitch does not erect, screw or assemble wood, so people can paint bloody pictures on it!! I mean buy one that’s already DONE!! I guess it’s just not the kinda ‘wood’ i’m used too! (Winky wink.) I’ve got 99 splinters (well one,) i’ve hit myself in the head three times, with flipping wooden planks, it’s been 2 hours, i’ve got it completely wrong EVERY time and i’ve cut myself on the bloody forehead!! I have a small SCAB on my HEAD!!! What??? I’m a fricking GLAMOUR PUSS!! We fondle ourselves in bubble baths filled with champagne!! We don’t have SCABS on our HEAD, due to having to politely take part in manuel F****** labour!! EVER!!!! lol…
It ended up with me pretending i got a really bad splinter in my thumb, ‘huffing’ and ‘puffing’ and like a complete moody cry baby, storming out of the room, like a Diva…and telling my wooden planks to F*** off!! Then as soon as i left the room, i put my feet up, stroked a few kittens, enjoyed a glass of wine and watched TV. Then when Daddy came back in, i pretended to look all wounded, like my thumb still hurt. He felt bad for me, and brought me gifts! CLASSIC! It still works at 27!!! Shit, he’s back..