When I grow up I am going to be a Life Coach. People are going to pay me to make their lives better. I will rid them of all the qualities that stop them enjoying life; ambition, aspiration, a work ethic, reliance on others, fear of consequences, high standards of hygiene etc. I will teach them how to love their sofa and forage for scraps. I will make my clients come and live in my house and I will drag them down to my level, down here in the gutter, looking up the skirts of passers-by. I also think that I might start farming dormice for food, in hundreds of tiny jars.
The Eurovision party was postponed. Best Girl had double-booked. We taped it and are going to watch it next week. The gowns remain in their scented boxes, the greasepaint in its tubs, the bridles and bits in the kitchen cupboard. I know who won, but that’s beside the point. Instead of watching Eurovision I spent the evening doing drunken patchwork and watching Snout kick the arses of cocky online Street Fighters.
Someone has written ‘Zoe bum dad’ on our wheelie bin.