Part of me is sick of falling over on the ice. Part of me is like, come on already, let's fracture something so I can put my feet up for a few weeks. I'm joking! I'm joking! I'm a little bit serious.
The whole thing is really starting to grate now. I mean sure, look at the beautiful winter wonderland, and it's nearly Christmas, and fun, and - now get over yourself and melt already.
In other news, I will be starting to hash through my much loved Nano project, after, well you know, I pass my driving test, and sort out a new job, and buy everyone presents and like, clean the bath. No! I will! I promised myself, and I have it forever stored on the internet - legally binding. It's just that December is one of those charming months where you never have enough time. It's always dark, and always cold, and you can just about muster the energy to drink a hot chocolate and settle under the duvet. Coincidently, exactly what I'm doing now.
I'm also in a bit of a sulk becuase Royal Mail have decided our car park is too trecherous. I can see them, arms laden with my many parcels on the street, looking across the white death trap which leads to my door. They clock the lack of path, and the fact that even the residents are parking on the street. They clock me, they mouth, 'Fuck it.' And they go home to Mrs Royal Mail. I need my stuff! Take the risk! What's more important, your spine or my Samsung Galaxy S?
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