Hello Blogfans and people who accidentally got here by googling “vagina”, “wine” and “panhandling fuckbar”. Hope you aren’t too disappointed.
So what are, indeed, the ‘haps’?
I went out last night and hung out with no less than four sporting celebrities, only one of whom I actually recognised and only because I once chased him through the arrivals area of an airport and threw invasive journalism questions at him because that was my job, yo, (and yes, he remembered it too. Gah).
None of them was a rugby person, which basically exhausted my knowledge of sport. I would, rather shamefully, admit who these chaps were but there are people out there who would take me to task. A spot of googling confirms they are, indeed, legends of some kind. Don’t I feel like a total muppet.
My freelance work has dried up like a raisin in the sun but thankfully I’ve landed a 6-month contract as a senior comms personage with teh gob’ment to keep myself and the Chaircat Miaow in gin and mittens.
I’m starting a new life. One of soup and salad, of hiring my cousin as my personal trainer. One of being able to fit into the clothes I own but earning enough to buy lovely, lovely new ones. And go on holiday to Japan/US/wherever I goddamn feel like.
It’s finally raining in Le Perth. I’m resisting the urge to go “dancing naked in the rain” a la 1980s hit song (mostly because at least two neighbours can see into my courtyard and at the moment – ain’t no one need to see that) and speaking of Perth – who says this city is basically so expensive it’s practically un-fucking-liveable? Not me. I think paying $20 for 1 hour and 34 minutes of parking in the city is as fair as a brick to the head. Ultimately unfair, but you kind of deserve it for being in the way. This is why I shall live on ramen noodles and use newspapers for warmth.