Dear Father. Please forgive me. It’s been three weeks since my last confession.
Ok, not so much a confession, but a journal entry, and that’s crap. As always, I seem to only update this thing when I’m generally bored with life. And life’s not boring at the moment. It still goes on, day by day, pretending to be boring, but it’s not.
In the three weeks since the last entry there have been changes at work, my birthday, at least three meals out, emotions, house sitting and dog walking. God, reading that back and I sound like a teenager writing a diary (there’s this, like, girl, right? And she’s, like, WELL fit, yeah?…)
I’m house sitting for Tasha at the mo. She’s snow boarding with her boyfriend in Italy somewhere, and flew off on Saturday for a week. Fuck my luck to be looking after her house, which is and always has been the coldest house in the world, at a time when we experience massive blizzards. I’ve spent the past couple of nights curled up on the sofa under a duvet, partly because I don’t want to try and work out how to increase the heating, and partly as it’s quite nice to have the freedom to watch tv under a blanket for a change. I’m sure I’ll get there in the end. If not, I may just freeze to death and be found by an irate Tasha and James when they return, having had to find their own way back from the airport due to my failing to pick them up as a direct result of being dead in their house.