Photo is of this morning, Gina stayed at her sister’s last night. I am sad. Look at my sad face for a demonstration of the type of sad I am portraying.
The rest of the blog was written yesterday. It might come as a surprise to you but I’m not a time lord, therefore have to justify my crap time keeping skills.
We drank some fancy sherry at work and instantly became a tad more sophisticated. Therefore this entry shall be written in the style of a young sophisticated woman (me).
Actually my hands are freezing and my brain is fried, so I really cannot be buggered, soz.
For breakfast I had an omelette, which was nicer than expected. I feel a lot of the sentences I write are twisted titles for murder mysteries, ‘The Omlette that was… nicer than expected.’ Actually sounds more like erotic fiction if you had to put it under some novelist categories, which you wouldn’t, because it’s a blog, about eggs, not erotic fiction.
So Tuesday evening, I felt very christmassy. Note to self- buy mince pies. I love mince pies and sherry and all that crap. Could write something now about nostalgia and christmas day on my tongue. That’s right, I feel that either jesus or santa are on my tongue. Lick lick.
So wednesday came about like it always bloody does. Gina and I have been working pretty darn hard on a few briefs. We were discussing yesterday how it’s nice to be in a smaller agency because we really get more on our hands on the work. That sentence doesn’t quite roll of one’s tongue with ease. Lemme look at it. So apparently we get more on our hands… more what? Glue? Syrupy wine? God knows. I think on was meant to say ‘of’, even still, bad bad writing, apologies, shall we move on to some more pressing matters?
I walked past Selfridges yesterday morning. It was a gloriously sunny day. Just when you think the city is getting you down, BAM, you’re walking along Oxford circus, the sun is shining, it’s a bit chilly and Selfridges window displays are once again depicting that oh so idealistic christamas that makes you feel A. Warm inside B. Stressed and sick because the world we live in is built upon over indulgent materialistic adverting. Do you know what I say? Damn to your pessimistic ways, I’ll sell you stuff you don’t want, and make money doing it, because that’s the kinda person I am and let’s face it, everything’s soooo pretty.
Rory left on Thursday. Probably for the best- he’s a bit too brilliant for London. I’m certain we will talk nonsense together again one day. I feel sad when I think about it a lot, so I’ll only think about it a little bit.
I find it harder to write about what has been happening when a few days have passed. SO MUCH has happened, but all I can think about is the literal present happenings, so without further ado… (this will happen in two parts as I’m on the tube now and will finish when I’m in bed.)
“The next station is Kentish Town.” Said Tracy, voice over extraordinare, underground sex kitten. Infront of me are three blonde girls and to my right is a man reading a book. If he’s reading over my shoulder then hello man reading book. I’ve just realised what the crappy pattern is on the seats on the underground- it’s a god awful silhouette of the london eye… there’s a little girl wearing lipgloss which is disturbing, a dude with a laptop case, “This station is Tufnell park”. I’m going to stop. I feel creepy. Shoulder book reading man just left in a hurry, I think he’s gone to read over some more shoulders, I’ll miss him.
One of the girls has red velvet boots on. I wonder what would happen if I just started taking her shoes off very slowly.
Gloss baby keeps staring at me.
Rhys, Gina and I walked around Carnaby Street this evening. The christmas lights look all skeletal hanging up there, unlit, like some morose ghost of Christmas fear (see what I did? no? it’s a bit shit anyway.)
I was supposed to go to Stevie’s party tonight but I’m just so darn tired. My green mac book cover came today. We wrote about nappy rash cream again. (Whacking out all the deers (supposed to say deets, slang for details, autocorrected to deers, think i prefer the idea of me whacking deers out of a sort of deer stable, as to why i’d be whacking them out, we can only assume they were up to no good again.))
It’s now bedtime, I have a stupid amount of things to be doing next week, like Gina and I’s book, show reel and of course, breaking bad catch up.