I arrived in my office this morning to find a piece of paper (there are several million others, but no matter, this one has drifted to the top of the heap), in my handwriting, prominently on display.
What is state aid?
Oliver James idiot
fucking small camera
Oliver James what are you doing
weapons vikings need for a successful invasion
Can I Compeed my Pokémon?
upsy daisy housecoat
what do belgium people wear?
we enjoy others misfortunes
how many half-eaten waffles fit in a birdhouse*?
They should SO have let me resign.
*Yes, these are all google searches ending here. I had noted them down in the hope of doing something amusing with them, but Katyboo does it better.
I had a nice pre-birthday tantrum this evening. The eurospawn were being exceptionally uncooperative, I spilled a tray of crappy foodstuffs all over the rug AND the household god, the flashing box of wonder that gives me internet connectivity and them the healing balm of Playhouse Disney had a wobble. I said lots of bad words. And stamped my little foot. And then I had to lie down on the bathroom floor for a while muttering "I HATE my life" like a fourteen year old. Lashes kindly covered me with a sleeping bag and patted my hand, which was shaming. Hopefully with that out of the way I will manage to behave as a birthday girl should tomorrow.
During my Eeyore moment, I found a morbid and horrible little project for that I am obscurely delighted with, anyway. I wanted to take a picture of the unbelievable fucked-upness of my lips, which have mutated into cushions of peeling, ripping pain. The result was so freakishly ugly that it delighted me, so I have taken pictures of some of the ugliest parts of me (NOT RUDE ONES) in the most unflattering light imaginable. It was an oddly enjoyable activity and I will display the results tomorrow in a gruesome hommage to myself as I turn 34. I know, you're thinking, oh, the odd crow's foot, a little sagging. But no. My body is particularly cruel at the moment and it is a true freakshow, I assure you. You might want to give it a miss.
Don't go yet - I want to make you buy Japanese stuff
Oh! Also I have news for you. The nice people at Shinzi Katoh are offering you all a 15% discount on Japanese loveliness if you put the code BELGIAN in when you checkout, until 30 November. Their wares featured here in a particularly unsavoury context on cocktail night, when the CFO got hairy hand disease from a Porto Flip. Their stuff is fricking lovely, not obscenely dear and oh fuck, they are now doing bowls, fuck, there go the last few euros of my salary.
They aren't paying me to say that. I wish they were, maybe I could afford the 3.1 Philip Lim blouse if I mentioned them, like eight thousand times. Anyone want me to mention your product eight thousand times in return for a blouse? I'm yours.