The problem with wanting to be alone is that there isn't anyone around to slap you, when a combination of painkillers and Piriton leaves you a bit odd. Will a bride go for this design? suddenly becomes, Why does every farmer in the land have to grow OSR? Could i put a baby in the corner of the shop? Is that legal? Am i going to die alone? Could i drink a pint of tea? Am i the only one who thinks it's the emperor's new clothes? Not so intimidating now.
Meltdown. The 'rents slapped me. It's all good now.
I don't actually want a baby, i just like the pictures of David Beckham. You're welcome.
also a man just came in to tell me that there is some nice fish in Morrisons, it's made in Vietnam, no bones, and that his wife complains that he doesn't have any stamina anymore, and that he is looking to find her a toyboy.
Business as usual.
Posted by Miss Pickering at 1:00 PM