1. I have managed to import livestock into the UK without incident. My puny triumph is redoubled having borne children and canine across the Channel unharmed, bar a little light anglo-saxon vocabulary when it all went to shit on the Hammersmith Road. The livestock was relatively well behaved. The children were silent as the grave thanks to modern electronics. Papa Waffle has taken them off to the country for 2 days to poke dead things and fall into open sewers, and I note, unfortunately for him, that Fingers has left his Nintendo behind. I hope there are some really interesting dead things to poke. It was a real wrench to see them disappear just after getting them back and I am a bit bewildered by the whole thing, and by the summer in general. I am sure they are fine, and it is only two days while I finish up at work, but I find myself a bit dislocated and aching again tonight. I have applied a poultice of fried foods and Sherlock to the sensation. It is not really helping.
2. I had to listen to Radio 1 for HOURS over the last 3 days. I attribute my three day migraine largely to this, well Radio 1 and motorway terror. This may sound like generic old lady 'It's not music it's just noise' type whining but actually I rather craved noise, what I couldn't stand was the generic nasal west coast vocal/phrasing hideosity and all round dreariness. The absolute worst bit of it was the news coverage - I found it strange and obscene to hear a military campaign described like a sporting fixture "they face a tough opponent", "they'll be facing IEDs, that's homemade bombs". Hideous. It must be my Quaker (hem hem, smelly hippy rather) upbringing. Also, Katy Perry. It sort of hurts my fingers when I type that.
3. I have to have my face rescanned tomorrow. The initial face scanning was discussed here. Since then, I have been half-heartedly trying to apply the trial cream, which smells terrible, but seems to be better than, say, anointing your face in fag ash and lard. I have been less than assiduous though so I am terrified there will be no improvement. I really, REALLY hate to fail an exam, even a skincare exam. Sadly, there is no such thing as last minute revision for a face exam, bar sleeping twelve hours and I'm already too late for that. I might go and try and resurface my face with some kind of house cleaning product. Maybe I will pay a teenager to go in my place?
4. I had the ultimate middle class tragedy tonight when the remains of a bottle of pink champagne Papa Waffle left for me in his Notting Hill fridge turned out to be entirely flat. My pink champagne is flat! Is life worth living? (I would like the record to state that this is the only pink champagne in my life in living memory, and needless to say, I drank it, but this does not make me any less slappable).
5. Keywords tonight include "polish my papa shoeses and my mama sandle", which pleases me, the puzzling "lotion roofies" (how would that work? you stealthily massage someone with it?), "story tale breast expanding expansion male/female magic wizard conjuror" and "Belgian yellow coticules in Brussels". Noone needs to know about capybara mating for a change, which is a shame as I believe myself to be a world expert on that subject. Other things in which I am expert according to most frequent keyword searches: "how to look French", the frequently discussed and very unfortunate "blue waffle infection" and Kate O'Mara's feet. It's not much to be proud of, but it's something.
Go on, tell me Some Things.