I'll tell you what's nice; your first time on a motorway and you get hit by a sponge baton. That's nice. I didn't have a clue what it was at first, just that it had fallen off a truck, which it was previously tied to. It's not the best feeling. But it was alright in the end, what with it being practically a child's flotation device.
It's been a truly magical time back in good ol'Notts this weekend. I have an odd-shaped burn on my neck and chest which seems to resemble a trombone. Which can't be helped when you have a mother who considers factor 4 to be sunblock. I had a conversation with an old friend about seeing the Eiffel Tower whilst she's in New York - A bizarre idea we both seemed to convincingly share. I had a brief, passionate confrontation with a polish man, over some cafe seats in the sun, desperate to achieve the trombone tan.
And I've been trying (ish) to like, become a fully qualified accountant. To be honest, I was hoping it would be a bit like, 'If Billy has two apples, then how many apples does Billy have?' Instead it's more like this: 'If $%^&*** was translated into Latin, and then from Latin into musical notes, calculate the worth of X.'
Maybe I'm a bit special. Maybe after all these years of focusing on words, and grammar, and the technical construction of sonnets, the part of my brain reserved for logic has shrivelled. Part of the problem is that all the examples start with, 'You own a business called...' and I'm thinking about the interior design, and how I'd manage the staff, and how success would affect my wardrobe choices. Is that so wrong? Is it because I love 'The only way is Essex?' Should I give up accountancy, and take up Botox?
I'll get a tiny dog for my handbag, speak only in acronyms, and make predatory advances at unsuitable men.
I guess the last word on the subject was always going to be O.M.G.
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