Christmas time!

Ann Potts, who for those of you who don't know, was the ghost living in my apartment, receiving a rather alarming amount of post, has returned. She moved out for three or so months, but has found the outside world cold, and unresponsive. She has begun to request Christmas party brochures, to cheer herself up.

My favourite is one from The Village, 'Amazingly, it's that time again!' Is it? Isn't it just April? A time for watching rain hit windows?  'If you book a party of ten or more we will treat you to a complimentary bedroom.' Great, if you can get ten of your friends to commit to a Christmas event, in April, then you can all sleep in one, free room. Anyone available? Have plans yet? Sounds perfectly realistic.

'So don't waste any time'. Guys, we've only got eight months left! Shit! That's hardly time to eat a baguette, let alone schedule a party. I think we might just have to stay in this year.

How is one of the nights sold out? That's a lie. That has to be a lie. Will they stop at nothing to entice cash, from us poor, recession ridden smucks? Who are these people who've managed to convince their friends to commit years in advance? I can't get my friends to commit to a conversation.

In other news, Ginger Beard is a joke with legs.

Also, I keep forgetting that the car isn't a safe place to say anything you want, when the windows are down. I just can't help but express my opinion on how annoying that pedestrian is, as they have a leisurely stroll across the road. Ginger Beard keeps screaming (like a girl) "They can hear you!", as I shout, "What a dick, what the fuck are you doing? Yeah, you take your time. Don't worry about it. I don't have anywhere to be. You complete fuckjob." It's not road rage. It's constructive criticism.