Some people hate halloween. While I'm not a fan of dress ups, pumpkins and men in drag, I'm a reasonable fan of having a holiday that means Christmas baubles can only be put on shelf from November 1st. Waiting for December 25th is like waiting for Godot on viagra - has he come yet ( Read more... )

Where did Saturday go? Last coherent thought involved rattling Jones on Friday night by pretending I was going to pop the big question on his birthday, then he passed me the Cerveza and then....suddenly it's Sunday. Hair of the dog is probably in order, I feel like I've been tonguing a yeti. Probably shouldnt say that considering I dont recall what ( Read more... )

You know what's great about Bestival?


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No chance of forgetting my age this year thanks to a barrage of messages and well-meaning but mystifying gifts. For example, Jez bought me flowers. Not a small bunch, either, but a great, blowsy bouquet of roses. I'm not sure if he was finally declaring his love for me (openly) or it was the result of a nefarious prompt by our resident cunt-in- ( Read more... )

Fucking summer, honestly. The intern was always a fan of flashing his nipples in one of those ridiculous deep vee t-shirts, now he's walking around in shorts. Short shorts. I feel like I know his testicles better than I know my own. That isn't even the worst part. The worst part is Roxy wearing a mini dress made of some kind of cybernetic superskin ( Read more... )

Cunting hot. Sat in the fridge, typing this on my phone. Jones is upstairs, in a cold water bath with two trays of ice cubes. While that sounds tempting in some respects I'm dubious about the long term effects on my extremities so am steering clear ( Read more... )

In bullet point; as some sort of exorcism I suppose.

• I'm turning forty in 30 days.
• I didn't get the Huffington Post job.
• I'm a master of alienation.
• I don't know what I'm doing with my life.
• After a year of false starts, I finished writing my second book.

.. I dont like Mondays.

Or any day.


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You begin to believe that this is all you’ll ever do. Spending entire days avoiding everybody you know, daisychaining cigarettes until the room is three quarters smoke and one quarter dirty bedding. You haven’t made it out of the house since last Wednesday. Beyond your own revulsion, beyond your own stagnation, beyond the involute and ( Read more... )

Christ, I've had enough of that bloody office. Extreme Eurovision night of terror (to which every single one of them came dressed as Jedward) saw a necessary sick day from yours truly, which resulted in an under-researched and over-written article on modern terrorist martyrs being published on the website. Such an occurrence would normally have ( Read more... )