The more people I tell about this blog, the fewer phone calls I get. It's a beautiful thing, silence, and not repeating myself. Thank you.
A haircut, a sale frock from 'Happie Loves It', and I think I can sleep now. The prospect of tomorrow's wedding was too daunting this morning, but now, yes, I'd like to be there.
Was foully tempered on the underground platform during evening rush hour. Waiting, forever waiting for a defunkt train to be taken out of service; fetid air; just wanted to be home; thought I would weep; wore an expression of 'Just don't come near me', yet had momentary vision of some idiot saying "Cheer up love, it may never happen", and being too tired to speak, so punching him instead, leading to an appearance at Wood Green Criminal Court, which would inevitably clash with my surgery date. Whilst this was all entirely a dream, I was relieved to discover that, somehow, fast asleep while Michael did his magnificent job with three shades of lowlights and a forest of silver foil, I must have acclimatised to the prospect of surgery. A good thing, I suppose.
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