My bed, right now = heaven. Newspapers and candles and headphones and COSY. Yet another week of working mental hours and, if my phone is anything to go by, taking pictures of my feet? Who knows where that trend has come from. There may or may not have been a little mid-week treat too, but more on that another day.
Last night I could mostly be found bopping my head around the Kazimier in Liverpool, drinking Krombacher and admiring the banisters and watching Pokey Lafarge and the South City Three boss it. Obviously loved it/obviously took a million photos/obviously about to show you some. Oh and Liverpool? It didn’t take me long to realise how much I’ve missed you. Felt it as soon as I stepped off the train. I won’t leave it so long next time.
I write this to you from my bed. Getting myself an early night, aren’t I. Probably to avoid dealing with all the things I actually should be dealing with. Like the ever-building workload that I should be chipping away at whenever I can. Like the biggest to-be-eBayed pile ever seen. Like the fact that I’m feeling homesick approximately 92% of the time. Like the fact that it’s getting cold and the gym is, like, all the way over there. Like the tantrum I had today about M&S discontinuing my favourite bread (I left breadless and in a super-seeded strop, let’s face it). Like the fact that I need, in short, to SORT MY LIFE OUT. All begging-to-be-avoided tripe, clearly. So yes, instead of facing all that, here I am in bed with frankly the finest selection of printed media known to man. Don’t mind me.