Been a quiet but happy week, I think I might have a mental illness, as I sat on the sofa and chewed the ends of my hair, then got the hair into a knot and ripped it out my head. That’s not normal is it, unless am slowly turning into a cat. Soon I will cough up a fur ball.
Been gigging all week and writing and booking flights, then un-booking them as some comedy promoters and other people can’t make up their minds where am meant to be. So, here is the rule of thumb in comedy, don’t book stuff in advance for cheapness and seat security, leave it till last minute as you wont be going to that destination at all and some travel companies hit you with a cash penalty for changing your mind. Just leave everything till last minute and pay a bit more, cheaper in the long run but fucking annoying. Just thought I would let you know that.
I also need to go buy new high heels, as the ones I had have been donated to the Marquis de Sade museum of torturous pain. I actually threw them over a wall in Soho last week as they hurt my feet so much I just lobbed them in the dark night, am hoping some Tory MP with small feet finds them and uses them to dress up as a hobbled hooker at weekends.
So I now have the hunt for the comfy heels, that’s on my list of things to do.
I don’t like shopping, am not one of those Sex in the City women who squeal and orgasm at the sight of a shopping centre. I don’t take hours poring over ‘sexy heels’ or stroke, kiss and covet them nor do I pay more than £40 for shoes I wear occasionally. I don’t subscribe to the noughties mantra that shoes are better than men. I don’t want a spiky heel in my tenders and have no interest in pretending I do. Nor do I believe a good handbag and dress makes you more interesting, I look old, and quite fat, I don’t look sexy but I get laid well and often and in my life time I have actually beaten cock off with a stick, despite having no dress sense, a thick waistline and mangled hair. Eat that Cosmo girl.
Having said that I do wish I was skinnier as buying clothes that fit my giant tits would be easier.
Husband and I are fast approaching our 30th wedding anniversary and we debated about going away to an expensive cosy cottage by a windswept coastline. We were going to hire this awesome place with a big four poster bed, a log fire with the sea literally whipping at our three hundred year old stone walls, but I decided not to go.
Despite how lovely it looked, I just wanted to stay at home, eat chocolate on the sofa in my pants and not have to wear a bra for three days.
He agreed and we are planning to just have the fight at home, which is what we always do when we go away together. I can sulk better in my own bed.
September is my favourite month, I love the seasons changing and Scotland looks great at this time of year.
I have also started my annual moan about not having a cat. Husband won’t let me have one as I am always away and he says it would be his job to clean up after it. So am planning on having a really big fight which will culminate in divorce talk which the only way our marriage can be saved is if we get a cat.
Am joking – that’s a horrible thing to do to get what you want, see…I may chew my hair but am not really mental at all!
Am off happy high heel hunting!
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