Well that’s decided then. Bought a ticket to London tomorrow, so I can sit and drink Heinken by myself in the Boogaloo, until the place swarms with people celebrating the imminent arrival of the new year. That sounds like I’m being depressing, but after all the hoohar, hum drum, wiffle and waffle of Christmas, I quite fancy it. So it will be less ‘OMG HI NEW YEAR LOOK AT HOW SHINY YOU ARE’, and more like, ‘there you are New Year! how you going? Fancy a cup of tea? No? Why? Because the tannin will stain your teeth. Yeah I’m lucky it hasn’t happened to me, I mean I drink so much of the bloody stuff haha… oh you’re not a real thing… and I’m essentially talking to no one? You’re right. Oh look i’m in a mental hospital. I like this white jacket. It’s a bit tight. Maybe I should have gone out in the end really, woopsies.’ Hmmm…

Anyhowzles. I’m now on a train, whipping through the countryside. My train goes directly to London, that’s nice isn’t it? I’ve just tucked into some chocolate raisins because I’m 100% boring.

Shall we look at some photos of my good self (for a change Jenn, go on then.)

Okily dokily. First up we have my good self (big up), in bed, looking bloody marvellous in the jumper (sweater) that my Granny knitted me. It’s truly my favourite item of clothing now. Secondly, let’s see… okay post shower (hence wet hair), wearing my second piece of favourite clothing- my Carpe Noctem T- shirt. Unfortunately this is not my original T- shirt from Summer 2012, that beloved little rotten item got lost on some horrific morning/ afternoon/ night on a boat/ alcohol puddle/ game of pickles/ touch the cup… I forget the details. Nevertheless, I bloody miss my darling Carpe Noctem. I used to be able to visit her lots, but since I’m now a real working person, I cannot. 

Sorry insert here- heavily regret decision to scoff half the bag of ‘yoghurt’ raisins and now feel queasy. 

Chocolate Raisins

Will give you cravings

For more which is a pain

As when eaten on a train

Scoffed down too quick

They shall make you travel sick.

Third photo is rather good. I am expressing my distaste. Distaste here means regret that I keep eating the disgusting yoghurty raisins, anger at their morishness and remorse towards the entire train event.

Thought i’d do everyone a favour and have my mobile phone murdered. Don’t worry folks! It’s getting replaced with an hip and happenin’ iPhone, so i’m officially joining the ‘modern world’. That’s thrilling isn’t it?

Yesterday I woke up, which is normally how I start my day. That would be slightly terrifying if I started my day unconscious. It’d be like a scene out of a horror film. I’d essentially be a zombie. But it’s okay i just woke up like a regular non possessed human, which is handy especially when using purple shampoo toner. If that stuff gets in your eyes then a nightmare trying to get it out. I probably wouldn’t feel the pain if I was a zombie, but I’d assume I would become human again shortly, by which time my eyes would be infected, but I need to go to Specsavers anyway. But I don’t like the idea of turning up with infected eyes asking them if I need glasses because they’d probably say, ‘holy shit, get to A&E fast, you’re scaring everyone Jenn’ (they’d know my name because I reckon there’d be some registration before an appointment + if I was in a Zombie film then some details would get glossed over, such as, ‘How did the receptionist already know Jenn’s name? (enter second person in this weird example of something quite simple) ‘I dunno- maybe there was a registration form’, and you see guys we’ve gone full circle, although both you and I have forgotten what the point was in the first place- ah yes, I woke up.) 

So anyway I spent my day with Donna, which was nice. We went into North Walsham, where I finally found Gina’s Christmas present. Just ate another raisin what is wrong with me.

Then we had some of Dad’s friends over, then we went to our neighbour’s house to see them. Had some wine. Advised their daughter on a career in the creative sector (all hail Croth and her oh so wise words of wisdom). 

Woke up early to have breakfast with Dad and Donna. Ate a bacon buttie, and now here I am, on the train going to London to bring the new year in.

Well that’s decided then. Bought a ticket to London tomorrow, so I can sit and drink Heinken by myself in the Boogaloo, until the place swarms with people celebrating the imminent arrival of the new year. That sounds like I’m being depressing, but after all the hoohar, hum drum, wiffle and waffle of Christmas, I quite fancy it. So it will be less ‘OMG HI NEW YEAR LOOK AT HOW SHINY YOU ARE’, and more like, ‘there you are New Year! how you going? Fancy a cup of tea? No? Why? Because the tannin will stain your teeth. Yeah I’m lucky it hasn’t happened to me, I mean I drink so much of the bloody stuff haha… oh you’re not a real thing… and I’m essentially talking to no one? You’re right. Oh look i’m in a mental hospital. I like this white jacket. It’s a bit tight. Maybe I should have gone out in the end really, woopsies.’ Hmmm…

Anyhowzles. I’m now on a train, whipping through the countryside. My train goes directly to London, that’s nice isn’t it? I’ve just tucked into some chocolate raisins because I’m 100% boring.

Shall we look at some photos of my good self (for a change Jenn, go on then.)

Okily dokily. First up we have my good self (big up), in bed, looking bloody marvellous in the jumper (sweater) that my Granny knitted me. It’s truly my favourite item of clothing now. Secondly, let’s see… okay post shower (hence wet hair), wearing my second piece of favourite clothing- my Carpe Noctem T- shirt. Unfortunately this is not my original T- shirt from Summer 2012, that beloved little rotten item got lost on some horrific morning/ afternoon/ night on a boat/ alcohol puddle/ game of pickles/ touch the cup… I forget the details. Nevertheless, I bloody miss my darling Carpe Noctem. I used to be able to visit her lots, but since I’m now a real working person, I cannot. 

Sorry insert here- heavily regret decision to scoff half the bag of ‘yoghurt’ raisins and now feel queasy. 

Chocolate Raisins

Will give you cravings

For more which is a pain

As when eaten on a train

Scoffed down too quick

They shall make you travel sick.

Third photo is rather good. I am expressing my distaste. Distaste here means regret that I keep eating the disgusting yoghurty raisins, anger at their morishness and remorse towards the entire train event.

Thought i’d do everyone a favour and have my mobile phone murdered. Don’t worry folks! It’s getting replaced with an hip and happenin’ iPhone, so i’m officially joining the ‘modern world’. That’s thrilling isn’t it?

Yesterday I woke up, which is normally how I start my day. That would be slightly terrifying if I started my day unconscious. It’d be like a scene out of a horror film. I’d essentially be a zombie. But it’s okay i just woke up like a regular non possessed human, which is handy especially when using purple shampoo toner. If that stuff gets in your eyes then a nightmare trying to get it out. I probably wouldn’t feel the pain if I was a zombie, but I’d assume I would become human again shortly, by which time my eyes would be infected, but I need to go to Specsavers anyway. But I don’t like the idea of turning up with infected eyes asking them if I need glasses because they’d probably say, ‘holy shit, get to A&E fast, you’re scaring everyone Jenn’ (they’d know my name because I reckon there’d be some registration before an appointment + if I was in a Zombie film then some details would get glossed over, such as, ‘How did the receptionist already know Jenn’s name? (enter second person in this weird example of something quite simple) ‘I dunno- maybe there was a registration form’, and you see guys we’ve gone full circle, although both you and I have forgotten what the point was in the first place- ah yes, I woke up.) 

So anyway I spent my day with Donna, which was nice. We went into North Walsham, where I finally found Gina’s Christmas present. Just ate another raisin what is wrong with me.

Then we had some of Dad’s friends over, then we went to our neighbour’s house to see them. Had some wine. Advised their daughter on a career in the creative sector (all hail Croth and her oh so wise words of wisdom). 

Woke up early to have breakfast with Dad and Donna. Ate a bacon buttie, and now here I am, on the train going to London to bring the new year in.

In the first photograph, I’m practisiing my, ‘yes Dad, I’d LOVE to walk along the beach with a hangover’ face.

The second is my arrival at Mundsley and thinking actually it’s quite fun.

In the third I am bonding with Charlie, post turkey sandwiches, and the last one is of me this morning, wondering whether Jordan’s country crips cereal is really this bad, or the box I found in my dad’s cupboard has just gone stale. Also please note my sexy pyjamas that I got for christmas. 

The rest of the blog will now feature ‘notes’ where I have to insert translations for my non- British readers.

I accidentally went out Friday night. When I say accidentally, I mean on purpose but last minute, and took it upon myself to keep up with boys club (Reevo et al). 

I didn’t get home until 4.30am… which is ok by me, but not by my Dad, who thinks i’m a raving drug taking alcoholic. So anyway, remember in the last post when I said about loving dogs? Well I decided I very much hated Charlie, as I crept along the gravel driveway, drunk, and fumbled for my keys. The bloody dog started barking a soon as he heard my taxi car door slam shut. So everyone in the house knew exactly what time I rocked up. I still ploughed on with my drunk snack concoction which, if my memory serves me right, was a coleslaw sandwich. (Note- coleslaw is sliced onions and cabbage in mayonnaise. Eugh gross- never thought of it like that before.)

I was in Vodka Revolutions (note- a bar in Norwich), and a bloke caught my eye (he was the one catching the eyes, I was not looking for a suitor) and he goes, ‘I saw you in Primark (note- a big cheap clothes store) today, fancy some vodka?’. Of course I accepted his creepy offer. Not sure whether it’s flattering he remembers me or weird that he was watching me so intently as I man handled people out of my way in the aisle. I remember feeling distinctly relieved to not have been spiked, so thankyou Primark man, you’re not as creepy as you first appear. 

I also got to see my long lost scouting buddy Joe Malpas. It was nice to begin with, but every time I tried to talk to someone, he yelled, ‘Hainford and Frettenham’ at me. (Note- Hainford and Frettenham are where dreams are made/ nothing happens ever but I went to scouts with him in Hainford. They are tiny little villages in Norfolk. Think Las Vegas, then think the total opposite, and it’s probably still more exciting than Hainford.)

Saturday we went to Cromer to look around some charity shops, which ended up with Kirsten and I standing outside RSPCA and Cancer research stores with Charlie, talking to all the weirdos as they petted him. We also ate turkey sandwiches (with salad cream)(note- salad cream was invented in Britain in the war as rations were low and they needed a condiment to make things taste more exciting, hence the birth of Salad Cream, and it’s stuck around since then. It’s v. British therefore the need for this explanation, whilst totally mundane and confusing, is necessary for my foreign (anyone outside of Norfolk) readers.) 

I went out with Kirsten in Norwich last night. I saw my chum John Powley, or as I like to call him (not sure if he’s aware of this) Jon Bon Pow. He introduced me to the cupboard, which was nice. Then Faye and I got punched by some ‘pro’  boxers. Not punched in a bad way- punched in a good way. They were professionals and they bought us some gin.

Here’s a poem about Norfolk and being at home:

Norfolk is flat so you can see,

A patchwork of fields, sewn with stitches of trees.

Thrown down on a bed of soil far back,

Frayed with the well loved beaten track,

My home of sandwiches and copious tea. 

It really does look like a mossy blanket outside my window in Wroxham. Right now the news is coming on TV. I can smell lamb roasting and I’ve just realised my outfit is a little erratic. Purple velvet trousers, floral top, and festive cardigan. I wasn’t even trying to make a, ‘i’m in artiste don’t ya know’ point, I just wasn’t concentrating when I got dressed. I was too distracted by the thought of  Lindt Reindeer (Note- Lindt Reindeers are chocolate reindeers, which may or may not have been moulded in heaven by the angels). 

I also saw my long lost brother/ one that got away husband (this is Norfolk after all) Joe Robinson last night. I like to jump on him in various bars in a slightly terrifying way. My parents are still very sad that Joe and I never got hitched.

I’m still undecided whether to go to London for new year or stay in ye ol’ Norwich. This fact is both uninteresting and affects nobody. 

Current thoughts for today include, where are my trainers? Stop talking about Baudrillard over dinner, nobody cares (quite understandably so) Shallet girl is a terrible movie and dipping gravy is a definite business venture.

In the first photograph, I’m practisiing my, ‘yes Dad, I’d LOVE to walk along the beach with a hangover’ face.

The second is my arrival at Mundsley and thinking actually it’s quite fun.

In the third I am bonding with Charlie, post turkey sandwiches, and the last one is of me this morning, wondering whether Jordan’s country crips cereal is really this bad, or the box I found in my dad’s cupboard has just gone stale. Also please note my sexy pyjamas that I got for christmas. 

The rest of the blog will now feature ‘notes’ where I have to insert translations for my non- British readers.

I accidentally went out Friday night. When I say accidentally, I mean on purpose but last minute, and took it upon myself to keep up with boys club (Reevo et al). 

I didn’t get home until 4.30am… which is ok by me, but not by my Dad, who thinks i’m a raving drug taking alcoholic. So anyway, remember in the last post when I said about loving dogs? Well I decided I very much hated Charlie, as I crept along the gravel driveway, drunk, and fumbled for my keys. The bloody dog started barking a soon as he heard my taxi car door slam shut. So everyone in the house knew exactly what time I rocked up. I still ploughed on with my drunk snack concoction which, if my memory serves me right, was a coleslaw sandwich. (Note- coleslaw is sliced onions and cabbage in mayonnaise. Eugh gross- never thought of it like that before.)

I was in Vodka Revolutions (note- a bar in Norwich), and a bloke caught my eye (he was the one catching the eyes, I was not looking for a suitor) and he goes, ‘I saw you in Primark (note- a big cheap clothes store) today, fancy some vodka?’. Of course I accepted his creepy offer. Not sure whether it’s flattering he remembers me or weird that he was watching me so intently as I man handled people out of my way in the aisle. I remember feeling distinctly relieved to not have been spiked, so thankyou Primark man, you’re not as creepy as you first appear. 

I also got to see my long lost scouting buddy Joe Malpas. It was nice to begin with, but every time I tried to talk to someone, he yelled, ‘Hainford and Frettenham’ at me. (Note- Hainford and Frettenham are where dreams are made/ nothing happens ever but I went to scouts with him in Hainford. They are tiny little villages in Norfolk. Think Las Vegas, then think the total opposite, and it’s probably still more exciting than Hainford.)

Saturday we went to Cromer to look around some charity shops, which ended up with Kirsten and I standing outside RSPCA and Cancer research stores with Charlie, talking to all the weirdos as they petted him. We also ate turkey sandwiches (with salad cream)(note- salad cream was invented in Britain in the war as rations were low and they needed a condiment to make things taste more exciting, hence the birth of Salad Cream, and it’s stuck around since then. It’s v. British therefore the need for this explanation, whilst totally mundane and confusing, is necessary for my foreign (anyone outside of Norfolk) readers.) 

I went out with Kirsten in Norwich last night. I saw my chum John Powley, or as I like to call him (not sure if he’s aware of this) Jon Bon Pow. He introduced me to the cupboard, which was nice. Then Faye and I got punched by some ‘pro’  boxers. Not punched in a bad way- punched in a good way. They were professionals and they bought us some gin.

Here’s a poem about Norfolk and being at home:

Norfolk is flat so you can see,

A patchwork of fields, sewn with stitches of trees.

Thrown down on a bed of soil far back,

Frayed with the well loved beaten track,

My home of sandwiches and copious tea. 

It really does look like a mossy blanket outside my window in Wroxham. Right now the news is coming on TV. I can smell lamb roasting and I’ve just realised my outfit is a little erratic. Purple velvet trousers, floral top, and festive cardigan. I wasn’t even trying to make a, ‘i’m in artiste don’t ya know’ point, I just wasn’t concentrating when I got dressed. I was too distracted by the thought of  Lindt Reindeer (Note- Lindt Reindeers are chocolate reindeers, which may or may not have been moulded in heaven by the angels). 

I also saw my long lost brother/ one that got away husband (this is Norfolk after all) Joe Robinson last night. I like to jump on him in various bars in a slightly terrifying way. My parents are still very sad that Joe and I never got hitched.

I’m still undecided whether to go to London for new year or stay in ye ol’ Norwich. This fact is both uninteresting and affects nobody. 

Current thoughts for today include, where are my trainers? Stop talking about Baudrillard over dinner, nobody cares (quite understandably so) Shallet girl is a terrible movie and dipping gravy is a definite business venture.

I felt spritely this morning. Just thought i’d say that, because I do and I think the word, ‘Spritely’ is massively underused. 

We made the whole office cocktails last Thursday. Sam was on top form. Then we played darts with our left hand only as Daz was leaving and he broke his hand. Everyone stayed at work til midnight. I have no idea how we passed the hours away, all I know is that the coffee machine and vodka supply was drained.

This morning I woke up because I dreamt someone was stabbing me. That was sad.

Gina bought me a teacake for breakfast on Friday. I put peanut butter and apple on it. If you’re ever feeling wild and really really adventurous, then you should try it. Because it’s good.

Gina and I are coming up with a way to send out a christmas message from the agency. We’ve come up with a few ideas, but we’re pitching them later to see how incredible our minds our/ go back to square one.

Currently thought processes? Aghhh there are too many. Feeling like a robot at the moment. Trouble is, robots aren’t very creative. I also have a new plan. I’m going to get with Jude Law. I don’t know if this is a new plan or just a refreshing take on a old epiphany/ total disillusion, but it’s going to happen. He’s just great and like I’ve said before I’m the Tesco meal deal version of the Savoy. Sienna Miller is the Savoy. Tesco meal deal is the metaphor for my good self and a direct example taken straight from my current diet* plan** (*diet means stuff I eat, **plan means no plan at all someone help  #likeaboss) Jude used to be with her. My point is i’m blonde.

I’m in Starbucks by myself and everyone’s on dates. I hate you all. I’m drinking one  of those eggnog lattes. I pretty sure it’s just single cream disguised with a bit of egg. Either way I’m happy. Anyway drinking cream just for shits and giggles isn’t so bad. ‘Sometimes, I just drink cream.’ (Pointer, Hazel, 2012)

Work’s going really great. Everyone is really nice. I’m only saying this because they all now read my blog. JOKING I LOVE YOU ALL. Seriously, you’re bloody fantastic. Even the real life human calculators that sit near the coffee. We now especially love Jo (of the Smith variety, the Booth ones are also good but I just can’t rock auburn hair and it makes me sad/ jealous.) Anyway, Jo Smith is a wonderful woman. She’s become G and I’s new role model. Gold stars for you Jo.

I might go to Budapest for New Year, this is a very exciting thought for me, or considering my current financial status, drink Sherry in Norfolk and eat dry Turkey sandwiches. I’m not too bothered cos both options are really.. no I can’t even fathom it. Someone give me some money. 

Current thoughts? I need a hobby. I maybe knitting. I’ve started flossing (fun). The dude opposite me shouldn’t wear grey, because his skin is grey and therefor looks a bit like a recycling bin.

I’m talking to Gembob on Facebook. Makes me happy to know she’s a least a few miles closer (in Budapest) (She’s Australian) (Still can’t actually hang out/ touch your face but I could if I wanted to/ pay lots of money for an hour or so of face touching) (No Gembob I shan’t  do it, face touching is not worth £80 (probably is I miss you)).

I have a numb arse from writing this. I think I might have a rat in my room. I don’t want to get on the tube. The only satisfaction to be gleaned from excessive tubing is making minimal eye contact with everyone, whilst at all times judging them and making assumptions about their life. It’s fun when you’re sad. If I write or read, I pretend everyone’s watching me like, ‘Wow, look at that girl. So young and talented, just reading and writing and being really at one with words. She looks like a poet. She probably thinks about the world and then gives what little money she has, back to charity…’ Well, I don’t. I spend it on Eggnog lattes then bitch about life in the corner. Also, they’re more likely thinking, ‘She could do with a hairbrush- crap I needed to go to High Barnet, not Edgeware.’

I want to write more so i’m going to start writing a story. Each part will be on my blog, so you gotta follow the story line.

Adam never wanted a cat. The trouble was, after his father died, his Mother couldn’t be left alone for long periods of time by herself, so a cat was a good option. Dogs needed more looking after. Cats were loyal, independent, and the gypsies on the corner were selling them cheap. Plus, a job at the off license didn’t really give Adam the budget for a dog. 

Adam’s dad was big. Not fat, but just large. Like a heavy bottomed bear. He would move around the house quietly, with no real interest in long conversations. Not that he was unsociable, it was he just wasn’t the type to strike up a conversation. Mr. Totable was what one might call ‘grey’. Yes, Grey was a good word to describe him. Adam hadn’t inherited his fathers grey-ness. Adam was broad and tall like Mr. Totable, but with dark colouring. He didn’t look much like his Mother either, ‘so goodness knows where you get it from’, She’d warble, half heartedly, with a watery stare…

OH CAN YOU FEEL THE SUSPENSE? WHO IS ADAM? WHY IS HIS DAD DEAD? AND WHY DOES HIS MUM WARBLE? WHAT DOES WARBLE EVEN MEAN? NO ONE KNOWS, NOT EVEN ME, COS I ONLY JUST DECIDED TO WRITE THIS STORY. 

Also PS Hiya, I have managed to collect a variety of images of me looking sad with hot beverages. Did someone say niché clipart? Nope, nobody did cos no one is talking to me right now, especially not about potentially dry business plans in the clip art sector. Oh wait, Gina is talking to me. Actually no she’s talking to herself she said, ‘Oh… will you just…’. Truer words have never been uttered dear Goon. 

Ring the bell. 

I felt spritely this morning. Just thought i’d say that, because I do and I think the word, ‘Spritely’ is massively underused. 

We made the whole office cocktails last Thursday. Sam was on top form. Then we played darts with our left hand only as Daz was leaving and he broke his hand. Everyone stayed at work til midnight. I have no idea how we passed the hours away, all I know is that the coffee machine and vodka supply was drained.

This morning I woke up because I dreamt someone was stabbing me. That was sad.

Gina bought me a teacake for breakfast on Friday. I put peanut butter and apple on it. If you’re ever feeling wild and really really adventurous, then you should try it. Because it’s good.

Gina and I are coming up with a way to send out a christmas message from the agency. We’ve come up with a few ideas, but we’re pitching them later to see how incredible our minds our/ go back to square one.

Currently thought processes? Aghhh there are too many. Feeling like a robot at the moment. Trouble is, robots aren’t very creative. I also have a new plan. I’m going to get with Jude Law. I don’t know if this is a new plan or just a refreshing take on a old epiphany/ total disillusion, but it’s going to happen. He’s just great and like I’ve said before I’m the Tesco meal deal version of the Savoy. Sienna Miller is the Savoy. Tesco meal deal is the metaphor for my good self and a direct example taken straight from my current diet* plan** (*diet means stuff I eat, **plan means no plan at all someone help  #likeaboss) Jude used to be with her. My point is i’m blonde.

I’m in Starbucks by myself and everyone’s on dates. I hate you all. I’m drinking one  of those eggnog lattes. I pretty sure it’s just single cream disguised with a bit of egg. Either way I’m happy. Anyway drinking cream just for shits and giggles isn’t so bad. ‘Sometimes, I just drink cream.’ (Pointer, Hazel, 2012)

Work’s going really great. Everyone is really nice. I’m only saying this because they all now read my blog. JOKING I LOVE YOU ALL. Seriously, you’re bloody fantastic. Even the real life human calculators that sit near the coffee. We now especially love Jo (of the Smith variety, the Booth ones are also good but I just can’t rock auburn hair and it makes me sad/ jealous.) Anyway, Jo Smith is a wonderful woman. She’s become G and I’s new role model. Gold stars for you Jo.

I might go to Budapest for New Year, this is a very exciting thought for me, or considering my current financial status, drink Sherry in Norfolk and eat dry Turkey sandwiches. I’m not too bothered cos both options are really.. no I can’t even fathom it. Someone give me some money. 

Current thoughts? I need a hobby. I maybe knitting. I’ve started flossing (fun). The dude opposite me shouldn’t wear grey, because his skin is grey and therefor looks a bit like a recycling bin.

I’m talking to Gembob on Facebook. Makes me happy to know she’s a least a few miles closer (in Budapest) (She’s Australian) (Still can’t actually hang out/ touch your face but I could if I wanted to/ pay lots of money for an hour or so of face touching) (No Gembob I shan’t  do it, face touching is not worth £80 (probably is I miss you)).

I have a numb arse from writing this. I think I might have a rat in my room. I don’t want to get on the tube. The only satisfaction to be gleaned from excessive tubing is making minimal eye contact with everyone, whilst at all times judging them and making assumptions about their life. It’s fun when you’re sad. If I write or read, I pretend everyone’s watching me like, ‘Wow, look at that girl. So young and talented, just reading and writing and being really at one with words. She looks like a poet. She probably thinks about the world and then gives what little money she has, back to charity…’ Well, I don’t. I spend it on Eggnog lattes then bitch about life in the corner. Also, they’re more likely thinking, ‘She could do with a hairbrush- crap I needed to go to High Barnet, not Edgeware.’

I want to write more so i’m going to start writing a story. Each part will be on my blog, so you gotta follow the story line.

Adam never wanted a cat. The trouble was, after his father died, his Mother couldn’t be left alone for long periods of time by herself, so a cat was a good option. Dogs needed more looking after. Cats were loyal, independent, and the gypsies on the corner were selling them cheap. Plus, a job at the off license didn’t really give Adam the budget for a dog. 

Adam’s dad was big. Not fat, but just large. Like a heavy bottomed bear. He would move around the house quietly, with no real interest in long conversations. Not that he was unsociable, it was he just wasn’t the type to strike up a conversation. Mr. Totable was what one might call ‘grey’. Yes, Grey was a good word to describe him. Adam hadn’t inherited his fathers grey-ness. Adam was broad and tall like Mr. Totable, but with dark colouring. He didn’t look much like his Mother either, ‘so goodness knows where you get it from’, She’d warble, half heartedly, with a watery stare…

OH CAN YOU FEEL THE SUSPENSE? WHO IS ADAM? WHY IS HIS DAD DEAD? AND WHY DOES HIS MUM WARBLE? WHAT DOES WARBLE EVEN MEAN? NO ONE KNOWS, NOT EVEN ME, COS I ONLY JUST DECIDED TO WRITE THIS STORY. 

Also PS Hiya, I have managed to collect a variety of images of me looking sad with hot beverages. Did someone say niché clipart? Nope, nobody did cos no one is talking to me right now, especially not about potentially dry business plans in the clip art sector. Oh wait, Gina is talking to me. Actually no she’s talking to herself she said, ‘Oh… will you just…’. Truer words have never been uttered dear Goon. 

Ring the bell.