So, I took (and was granted) redundancy. I finish up in two weeks. Scary biscuits.
The Lions lost out in the dying seconds of this week’s test but I’ve decided to try and make Leigh Halfpenny my husband.
I did not achieve a single thing I set out to do this weekend. My flat looks like a bomb hit it and my hand-me-down vincas are dying, presumably of sun deprivation.
The long-awaited limestone wall/fence thing around my apartment block has been delayed again. Quelle surprise. Glad my now $600 a fucking quarter rates are paying off. Cunts.
I’m toying with (read actually going to do) a brief holiday in the sun with the sometime chap after I get the arse from the newspaper. Incidentally The Chap gifted me with Moet and flowers which was pretty fucking lovely.
I’m scared and excited in equal measure about my new life. Actually more scared. Shit scared.
I bought $95 of books from a second hand bookstore because I am crazy mad for books and like a moth to a flame. Also, I was chuffed cos the bookstore man nodded and mumbled appreciatively that I had “many classics” in there. Was I going on holiday, he asked. Instead of saying ‘no, i’d take my fucking Kindle instead of all of this’ I smiled demurely and said ‘no’. Then Dans told him I was redundant and had some reading to do. Super.
My neighbour just fell down the stairs drunk. I wanted to call an ambulance. His mates think he’s ok. Fuck knows. I had to go out there in my goddamn Onesie.