I’m currently a grumpy gobshite spending most of my time eating my feelings and drinking so many cups of tea I’ve forgotten what sleep feels like. However, on the plus side, I’ve not had a cigarette in a week.
I have to get all my registers ready for tomorrow morning, which means ferociously rubbing out ingrained pencil marks from sheets of laminate before re-writing them out again with changes. I am aware that this will probably take me about 2 hours.
So will somebody please tell me why I’m watching episode after episode of ‘Britain and Ireland’s Next Top Model’?
Do not get me wrong, I love my figure. But trying to find clothes to fit a 26” waist along with a 44” arse is damn near impossible. Why can’t it be acceptable to just wear underwear out the house. That always fits me.