One of my housemates is creating his own religion. At least that's what he's calling it. I prefer, cult.
He helpfully left a ton of notes (a first draft perhaps) of it in the bathroom. But if he's reading it when taking a dump, it doesn't bode well - showing very little respect indeed for his own work.
If I was a better, more forward-thinking person, I would've taken photos. Because the delightful find has now disappeared.
Every page addressed the reader as 'You,' and instructed them on how to live their lives according to his new, invented cult.
I'm going to knock on his door over the weekend and ask to join.
Hopefully their is a challenging, and yet fun, initiation process.
I've always wanted to truly belong somewhere and now is my chance.
He's the same housemate who we caught listening to 'Walking in the air' from 'The Snowman' at crazy volume last week.
He's very posh and, evidently, very special.
ALSO
WE'RE LEAVING LONDON. That's right, leaving, evacuating ship, abandoning the big smoke, (I've had to start looking for synonyms), parting ways, saying goodbye.
The danger here, is assuming that my life will become immediately better in 7,000 ways. What if it's not? What if I end up missing being yelled at about the bin rota, or craving the grey blur of a mouse as it darts behind the fridge?
What will I have left to complain about?
Oh, oh wait, there's still Ginger Beard. At ease people, at ease.
Ginger's new company has offered him a relocation budget. I am going to buy:
-Moving shoes - shoes which are equally sensible and stylish, often referred to as, 'The moving girl's shoes.'
-Moving snacks - high in calories and fat so that we can maintain momentum.
-Moving puppies. Because no one can do a good job of shifting their shit from London to Chester without an array of over-excited Collie-Cross Spaniels.
And bottle of Disaronno, to take the edge off being in a small van with Ginger for four hours. Because he might want to discuss our sham of a marriage in front of my occasional friend and historic colleague JB.
I'm happy to discuss it with JB directly, but I don't want Ginger to be mouthing of without my total inebriation, all like, 'JB, I'm so unhappy, Gemma is more attractive and intelligent than me, and I'm struggling with it.'
Quit your jibber jabber fool.
