Thursday, September 28, 2006


To the man who pulled his car over in the pouring rain, to dash across traffic and remove the upturned supermarket trolley lying in the middle of the opposite lane -
I'm sorry I glared at you when you hit your hazard lights and swung your car of the side of the road - I didn't see why at first. I hope you realise the smile I gave you as you ran across the road in front of my car was intended as a 'Thank-you' for doing such a nice, sensible, good thing. Not just because you had a cute bum and looked hot with rain slicked hair. I hope you heard me shouting 'You're my hero!' through the window and over the traffic noise.
You're lovely. And you looked like sex on legs. I hope good things happen to you.

In other news, boo hiss to colds. My vocab seems to be reduced to 'Uuughg' and *sniff*. I apparently sound like a Southern Belle on valium, and feel like my head is the size of one of those ginourmous pumpkins that turn up sporadically in the newspaper. As sort of an 'Oooh, look at the size of Mr Albert Fletcher, 76, 's pumpkin. Mr Fletcher has been growing pumpkins since the Boer War, and believes this is the largest yet. He says the secret is regular mulching, and burying his dead budgies in the pumpkin patch' filler for when there's no news.

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