I am a lazy monster. My motto is: If You Can’t Do It In Bed, It’s Not Worth Doing. This morning I put my jumper on inside out and I still haven’t remedied that. The others are in the living room, returned triumphant from the cinema, gnawing on chickens and watching Street Crime. I did not go, I was good, I stayed at home and ate murderer pie and posset for pudding. The killer’s the binge, this is the purge.
Now I have reached Critical Glaze, the point in a day when I am doing more staring than writing, and I think it may be time for me to go. I should be outside, gambolling in the sun, but I am an indoor girl, queen of the curtains and the sixty watt sun. My bed is my meadow and I have never been a lamb.