Shameless is quite probably the best thing ever. I love Frank. Every episode has me sighing in a way that would be tearful if I cried like a normal person, and laughing like a lunatic repeatedly.
I am the only person in the world (assuming "the world" is the same as "my inbox") who thinks kisses are superior to hugs.
The perfect number of layers of filo pastry is 2, and it should always be folded not scrunched. Olive oil may be easier than butter to put between the layers, but it doesn't taste so good.
My sense of humour has left home but didn't tell me, I carried on as normal. Bah.
It is two months, 3 weeks and 1 day until my children start nursery. I am sure the fact that I just worked that out makes me a bad mother.
It's not even the end of January yet and I've done every single one of the things I wasn't going to do this year. Positivity, having been welcomed back as the prodigal emotion, sneaked out one morning at 3am just before the exams and is now feared to be lost forever in the wilderness of gah. Feeling: superfluous.
I'm still reading Mort. I got scared on page 21. I need to read through the fear before I even try to go to sleep.
Where's Heroes gone?
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
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