Back Again.

Look, to be straight with you whatever you read on this blog today will be utter trash. I can’t mentally strain myself, as I’m sat in my room with all the blinds shut with a stinking hangover (it’s Sunday… I think) My mouths as dry as the Sahara, and I can still hear what sounds like the Vengaboys ringing through my head. My feet seem to have developed a pulse from wearing those ‘killa’ heels which literally nearly kill me every weekend and my fake tans so patchy I look like I’ve contracted a nasty case of vitiligo, luckily for me its Halloween on Wednesday which means I won’t look out of place with what’s left of my eyelashes and fake tan.

Not only did I wake up on Sunday with a hangover but I also woke up to the dreaded realisation that I’d be tagged into a picture… now, we’ve all been there, seeing the notification and discovering a horrific photo of what seems to be yourself, but a Phil Mitchell female version wearing an outfit which makes you look like you have more rolls than Gregs. It ruins your whole day and you promise yourself that you’re only eating avocado on toast all week but as we all know, by Monday you’re sat in the office munching on a packet of fig rolls, raiding the staff cupboard for whatever carb appears to be in date – but hey, its Monday, 1pm and you’ve had hard week.

Speaking of hard weeks, I decided to go to a fortune teller last week and let me tell you, it’s ruined my whole week if not my life. I’m telling you all not because it’s particularly relevant but more to the fact I’d like to give you an insight into how tragic life appears to now be.  Now, I don’t know how many of you believe in the whole ‘fortune telling’ business, Lewis for one would go through the roof if he found out I was writing about this, but luckily for me he’s in some pit in Australia looking & sounding like Crocodile Dundee each time I hear from him. So I guess I don’t need to worry about him reading these anymore. For those of you who know me, you’ll know I hate being told what to do. But for some reason, when a fortune teller tells me something, it may as well be carved into my coffin, that sh*t’s happening. Most people including myself go to fortune tellers to be told the same ‘you’re going to be successful and have three kids’ which is exactly what I was expecting. However this time, in short, I got told that I was not going to be successful in any relationship, I’d meet someone when I was 26 (good age) but then he’d break my heart and leave. Great. then she said ‘don’t worry’ I’ll meet someone else… when I’m 40, FORTY????? ARE U HAVING A LAUGH, so to put that into perspective I’m going to be alone, third-wheeling with my lesbian best mates for TWENTY-ONE years. So not only have I been fleeced £20, my soul is somewhat battered.

Moving on, I feel like I should be writing more about the business or how to colour scheme your home but to be completely honest, I still get the petrol and diesel pumps mixed up and I got told this morning I have a two-wheel drive but I’ve just recounted and I’m 100% sure I have 4, so, as I said, if you’re after interior advice, I’m probably not your gal.  However, I can tell you that I have now started working inside the retail shop on Saturdays with ‘nanna moonie’ most commonly known as Janice, I can only describe Janice as a more glamorous version of Rita Fairclough who comes out with stuff you’d only think of after 4 glasses of red. Being 19, i find it fascinating working in the shop and listening to the stories, tips and tricks older women tell me, I now know not to put reds in with my whitewashing not that I wash anything anyway, this magical woman just takes it out of my room, she goes by the name mum, I think. I’d also like to thank everyone that stopped to offer me advice about my cough, I’m now so knowledgeable of that many old housewife flu remedies I’m thinking of sacking mulberry moon off and joining Cambridge to study medicine.

So, I’ll see you all at Eccleston surgery.





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