Tearing off tights with my teeth. 

The title of this post, for the uneducated, is a line from Faithless Insomnia; just for clarification. I haven’t gone completely bonkers! (I hate the word bonkers. I also hate the word boogie and most words that end in -sh. I don’t like the way my mouth feels when I say words ending in -sh)

I’m waking up every couple of hours like a newborn baby who doesn’t know what it wants. Do I want feeding? Nappy changed? Do I want to play? Deedled? Wrapped in a blanky and walked the floor to sleep? I might cry and see if somebody comes to lift me crabbitly and plonk me in a bouncy chair in front of The Hit Man and Her (remember that mentalness?) while they bounce the chair a bit more aggressively than they should with their toe, and fall asleep) (I may or may not have done that with one or more of my offspring) (you can’t prove anything)

I might have a fag at the back door. Do I want that? Will I put a wash on? Hoover? Make a quiche? Make an elaborate three tier celebration cake? No. I’m a lot of things,  but I’m not Fanny Cradock. 

Goodnight and may all your doughnuts turn out like Fanny’s. (The old ones are the best eh?)

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