My bedroom smells of daffodils and I am wearing the furry blue dressing-gown that makes Spatchcock think I am her mother. Earlier this evening I somehow contrived to get stuck underneath the double mattress of our bed. I always thought that living in a house with four men would mean I was relatively well-protected, but I roared myself hoarse and they didn’t stir from Fifa ’08. They thought I was one of the children, playing their little screaming games.
I have been looking at the search queries that bring up this wad of words. My favourites are:
Ultimate bionic catfish
The lonely sock sack
Amanda Holden armpit
The killer inside me
And most of all:
Pied Piper to the girl with the naughty knickers.