My bed is never made.
I’m fickle; and because of this I have done many things that
make me sound cool even though I’ve given up on them. For
example, you might often hear me say that I play guitar. Et
je parle en francais. Mais c’est nes pas vrai. See? Also, I can’t
trust anyone who doesn’t like dogs, or the smell of rain,
or a giant mug of tea. Also I take compliments really badly, but I’ll tell you now; I want to hear them all the time. I will roll my eyes, but secretly
I love it. My all-time favourite movie is Singin’ In The Rain and my all-time
favourite song is Stairway to Heaven followed closely by These Arms Of Mine.
I like staying in the bath long enough
so my fingers get all wrinkly; I slow my breathing down, float perfectly
still, and imagine I’m a suicide who’s just slit their wrists.
Sometimes when I’m driving along, I imagine ploughing myself into a pole. My picture would be on the news.
Also, I like to daydream that I’m a West-End star, all glittered up, jazz-hands ‘n’ all. I would be in my dressing room putting on my wig and make-up, when my entrepreneur husband walks in to tell me he’s in love with our teenage nanny.
After months of hurtling myself into a harrowing depression, I
arise from my gin-soaked apartment – in New York – to write a
best-selling novel called Lolita.
If you are: hairy, tall, pierced, tattooed, unwashed and intolerably rude – I will
most definitely be attracted to you. Add in a motorcycle, a drug habit and bouts of manic-depression – and I will fall in love with you.
Please don’t make me do that.