What to do what to do... Oh dear, there seems to be a trail of debris behind me.
Im bored of things that should be said not being said.
Im going to go and live in my tiny little bedsit (of the future) with its strange and wonderful antique furniture and snuff boxes and a library and a fireplace and a big rococco four poster bed and dark blue walls with gold stars and cats and empty wine bottles and posters of arty films that only interesting people have seen and wooden floors that creak for no reason with hidden things underneath them.
This is a good plan. I will while away my days in bohemian obscurity, surrounded by works of art that people will go mad for when I die but not a day before.

Oh dear, my fixation upon the word whimsical is getting out of hand... I want to stop but I just can't.
Ho hum. Smile smile smile la la la.
Well so we all should, it is Christmas after all, hurruh for Christmas. A time for love and happyness and arguments and joy and giving and receiving and last minute gifts and too much food and good wine and horrible hangovers and pretty deocrations and tree smell and pine needles in your feet and parties and being on your own and good company and annoying people and enjoyment and intense relief when its all over. I have a bad feeling about Christmas, very bad indeed. It is not going to be good. This way I am not going to disappointed if it's horrific and pleasantly surprised if its bearable.
All I want for Christmas is.... Hmmm.... Ooh, a one way train ticket to North Scotland. Yes, yes that would be good. But then darling Wantage, with its cosiness and close proximity to places of ontoxication. Tricky. I must ponder further

Oh dear my hair is a rather shocking shade of something... I miss my old hair. silly and pointless I know but its a distraction.
The plan is, I concentrate on silly stupid things, get really stressed about those, and then allll the other stuff gets put in a bag with moths on at the back of my mind:)