OK, so one..or two glasses of wine make me roaring drunk now, apparently. As in, so drunk I pretend cushions are beards, dance like a possessed creature to songs I can’t remember the lyrics to and generally…entertain? Be glad there are no photos from last night. BE GLAD.

I saw two foxes and five rabbits on the train journey home this morning. It was delightful and I think I just turned into Beatrix Potter, please excuse me.

I helped an elderly lady with her suitcase. I feel awful about feeling so good about this. Before you go thinking that I’m a nice person, please consider the following: would I be posting this if I did this sort of thing all the time, instead of doing it occasionally and believing myself to be a saint on those rare days? Exactly.

Less than a week until I get to move into my lovely new house and tension here is cranked up so high it physically hurts my neck muscles. No less than two people talk at each other at once. People raise their voices to be heard, prompting the others to do it too. Really fucking annoying rhetorical questions fly over the dinner plates and hit me in the throat so the food gets stuck and make me feel like there’s an acidic pool churning in my guts. Whenever more people come into the house I am bombarded with the same queries at least three times. I have to retreat upstairs and scratch at the wall to wind down. I’m stressed. I’m surprised my hair isn’t falling out in great long ropes of frizz.

I analysed my heart today. I’m not AS obsessed with David Tennant as I was this time last year. There is hope for me. I have downsized from two calendars to one.

My neck hurts.

I have nothing more interesting to say, except did you know that ‘Adiemus’ isn’t sung by Enya, but by Miriam Stockley?

Fact.

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