– Girls who blog about the “charming, quirky, offbeat, gorgeous” style of celebrities, trying to sound as though they’re experts. There’s an alarming amount of these twats on the internet. As if you’d go out wearing half the stuff you harp on about – you’re too much of a fucking pussy. You’d probably wear beige if those fucking French fashion magazines told you in was THE colour of next season. I realise of course that there may be one or two that are actually man enough to wear what they like. Good for you. I hate fashion unless it involves black, lace, leather, corsets, Victorian-governess-bondage, things that look like they should be worn around Hogsmeade and old military uniform. And boots that look like they’d disembowel someone if you deigned to kick them whilst wearing a pair.

-The “friends” I have on Facebook constantly giving the world updates about how their newborn spawn is faring. Most of them are my age. I. Don’t. Care. I could unfriend you, but I love looking at your page when I feel I’m failing at life. I think, “At least I haven’t become pregnant yet – that would really be a new low,” and instantly feel awesome. There is a positive side to this – it reaffirms how lacking my maternal instincts and desires to inflict miniature versions of myself on the world are. Damn I hate children. If I was in charge, it’d be like Vulgaria in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and I would  employ this fine man to uphold my law of NO CHILDREN:


– This house. I die a little every day inside this house. I can’t be creative or intelligent or outspoken in this house without being labelled as someone who has let university “change” them. Of course it’s changed me – I’m not a wimpy little retard who doesn’t speak up for herself now. That’s a good thing. I reject your reality AND your fucking stupid religion and substitute my own! Viva slash fiction and men too pretty to be entirely male!

Oh yeah, man. Snucius forever.

– Weight gain. Although it is only 1lb for wine/Jelly Baby/excess amounts of pork chops/a freaking large KitKat.

– WASPS. Both The Cat and I whinged like big girls until someone came to kill the wasp that was in a bedroom this morning.

…All right, so The Cat was raring to murder the wasp. I was the only one whinging like a big girl.