I really should get scooter lessons. I want to ride a Vespa, with a scarf tied around my hair, wearing dark sunglasses, dressed like Jean Seberg in 'A bout de souffle'.I'm scared I'm going to be a total unco when I go snowboarding in 2 weeks. I don't care about looking like a loser, I care about not having a good time cause I'm shite.
Moving back to the UK has put excitement in my youthful belly again. It scares me though. I wonder when the permanent job will come my way.
Why does my homemade soup and hommus taste a million times nicer when I make it at my mum's house, then in London. Does the Multi-Pro Food Processor do an inadequate job?
I miss my gorgeous puppy Scarlett every day and hope that she doesn't think I've abandoned her. I tear up sometimes looking at snaps of her.Friday the 13th is stupid- who cares?
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