I have learned another thing about myself that I did not know before yesterday; my whinging and swearing in harsh conditions is involuntary.
Those pools with swim up bars – do you think people actually get out to go to the loo after a couple of drinks? Because they don’t. Here, come sit next to me and wallow in my piss with a lager.
I left shame faced though the side door of the church hall while people tutted and put bets on how long it would be before I died of a heart attack.
I didn’t want to go to my doctor for my anxiety, so I began to look online for other ways to manage the slight anxiety I have when I perform on stage.
Killing Your Blog: How To Get Nowhere Fast In The Blogging World (The Notaneffingfairytale Guide To Being A Shit Blogger)
So, this blog is officially a pile of shit. I don’t even know why I bother anymore, but the longer it goes on, the more fun I am having at being an absolutely awful blogger.
That would have been awkward if I’d given a shit.
I didn’t jut say that did I?
Oh I fucking did. Of course I did.
I should have known it wouldn’t have been just a fried egg on stodgy white when I walked into the place. It was one of those terrible, trendy cafes that puts the word “Artisan” in front of everything.
Fuck off with your glitter, or your sparkly confetti, or the tiny metallic hearts. No one over the age of six likes glitter.