1. Ask yourself, Delhaize, what would Waitrose do?
Clingfilm should not be next to magazines, Belgian supermarkets. It makes NO SENSE. Take your clingfilm and your aluminium foil and place it somewhere sensible, like perhaps next to the freezer bags. I see straight through your cunning attempts to make me impulse purchase Flair magazine.
2. Things on top of the piano
A shrunken head made from a potato, a make your own sweets kit, my UK credit card (which must be destroyed, as causes many, many problems), a far too hard dinosaur DVD game thing Linda Grant book, a loo roll, a book called The Bellini Card, ancient pictures of me in my Sylvia Plath phase, plus one where I am wrapped in a curtain with a lampshade on my head and another where I am thrashing Rachel Poole in the beanbag on head race, an ultra violent comic strip drawn by Lashes' friend Talkative featuring someone getting crushed by a 200 tonne weight, bone shaped tripe snacks, 8 miles of cable. 4 mugs. A lint coated slime alien. Lots of sheet music, most of it far too hard for me. Various puzzling Japanese postcards saying things like "I hire the elephant with the red ball. We are going to show someone our daring stunts" and "Even though I look scary I have a tender mind. No doubt about it".
3. Cunning schemes to make my fortune part 817
Working from home has given me ample opportunity to observe the life cycle of the tortoise. It is extremely dull, though restful. I wonder if I should give it a go.
10:00 Wake up
10:30 Eat lettuce
11:00 Have a nap under warm lamp
11:30 Climb over each other
12:00 Nap under warm lamp
12:30 Eat lettuce
13:00 Nap under warm lamp
13:30 Climb over each other
14:30 Bump shell against edge of house repetitively
15:00 Nap under warm lamp
15:30 Fall over
16:00 Eventually right self
16:30 Eat lettuce
17:00 Nap under warm lamp
17:30 Bump shell against edge of house repetitively
Given the ardour with which the world observes the lifestyle and diet of the ancients of Okinawa, I think I could write a bestseller based on the secrets to longevity, tortoise style. "Tortoises don't get Botox" perhaps. We will draw a veil over any penis based revelations. Or, save them for the follow up, "Tortoises don't need genitals".
I do not think, however, a book based on the lifestyle of the weepette would have much success, except as perhaps a companion volume to Skinny Bitch. It could be called Bony Twerp, and would detail the healthgiving properties of running in smaller and smaller circles until you fall over, eating tissues (Anorexics do that don't they? So does the weepette. Hmm), bumping into things and becoming transfixed by pigeons.
5. Where was my sponsor in my hour of need?
I bought a dress today. That was a bad thing. The dress, however, is a very good thing. Wait, let me go and take its picture. It is The Same as All the Other Dresses. I will demonstrate.
Today's dress (Vanessa Bruno. The detail around the neck reminded me of an ancient Swiss cotton vest I inherited from my mum and still love):
6. The ugliest dinner ever or why if you ever come to stay, we're getting a takeaway
The CFO came home and said "mm! Something smells good!" as he walked in the house. When he saw this, he recoiled in horror and refused all nourishment. I can quite see why.