Ever licked a crab? They taste like glue. I know this because I licked a scratch and sniff sticker of a crab once – and it tasted like glue.
Let’s face it – sporting events just aren’t what they used to be. If they were, I’d be a dead cert for multiple chocolate-gold medals.
Sometimes ‘like’ is not enough. Occasionally, I’m totally jealous and hate you a little bit.
Yesterday, I introduced you to my childhood chum Angie and her favourite colours – rainbows, pink and glitter. We became pen pals and bracelet buddies aged seven, but lost touch until recently, when our paths crossed again, this time purely by chance – in the blogging world. Holy coincidence Batman!
Dear Jessica, My name is Angie. I live in the U.S.A. I am seven. How are you? I am fine. Do you have a hobby? I like to ride my bike and roller skate. I collect scratch-and-sniff stickers. I enclosed some for you. They smell good but don’t eat them because they taste just like the regular kind of stickers.
E L James, you have failed me. Why oh why couldn’t your protagonist and wanton sexpot have been called Christian Periwinkle? 50 Shades of Periwinkle would have made a much cooler montage.
There is an undeniable indirect correlation between the depth of my television and the size of my waistline. As the owner of a flat screen TV, this does not bode well.
Thou Shalt Stoop to Conquer. Or at Least Give Him a Stepladder. If all else fails, just stand really far away.
It pains me to say this, but my mother is significantly cooler than I am. As a music journalist in the sixties and seventies she shared the back of a limo with Rod Stewart, had tea with Alice Cooper and brought Slade home for cheese on toast.
Having spent my formative years licking the back of her head, the Queen and I developed a special bond early-on. A little part of me died the day self-adhesive stamps were introduced.