PHOTO COURTESY OF THE WONDEROUS Peter Fingleton.
Currently hidden in my little bedroom with a tummy growl, growl growling for some delightful special K... (if only i could complete that two week challenge I'd finally be skinny FOR ONCE AND FOR ALL) ...but the mother macken has visitors. And SO, I will forge on, and growl and RANT, and rave, (bedrave to THIS) but ALSO, on to my general concerns of this Saturday the 17th of July. I'm worried about Amanda Knox you see. She has CUT HER HAIR. She's also receiving Fan Mail. She's been imprisoned for my entire life span, AND SHE'S FOXY, according to the media, this makes the story extra salacious. Trial by media comes to mind, but I'm pleased we got to know her opinion on the World Cup. At least there's that.
Now my sleep was pestered by a terrifying asian woman brandishing a gun filled with firework bullets that she was shooting at me. Strewn across that gun was a black and white cat. Obviously this relates to me reading the Amanda Knox article before bedlington. But also, due to the fact that I suffer from chronic FMS (fear of Missing Something) it was an anxiety dream relating directly to the monstrosity that I was not out enjoying MY LIFE, but rather was tappa tappa typing to this here blog which I'm sure no one will be reading, at least it's taking me away from my hunger though.
Luckily, anxiety dreams shall be suspended due to the fact that i shall be going to Mother this evening. Located in the bowels of a tremendous hidden gem of copper alley, with it's steel brandished podium separators, ornate wallpaper, covenous low ceilings, and glamorous humans, each week I feel as though I'm stepping into an episode of Dynasty, combined with the good old days when RíRá's Monday Evening Strictly Handbag would see me FORGET ABOUT ALCOHOL in favour of Dancing and drinking pints of water. Wholesome Mack.
Oh visitors are gone! For Cereal. I'm not really a very dedicated blogger am I? This is all a ploy to sustain hunger.
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