Monday, 23 September 2013

Anal Cream Pie

Being the partner of a knitter, or a wool-widower as I prefer to call it, can have its ups and downs. On the bright side, I get to look at lots of lovely, brightly patterned scarves and socks and get to sit and marvel at the extreme cleverness of my partner.  Top of the list of downs, however, is the fact that our freezer is now stuffed full of wool! We're reliably informed that freezing yarn kills moths dead. Fact! But it also means I can't find the frozen peas and don't know if there are any nut cutlets for tea tonight! Hoo!

I went back to the gym today. I always know that I'm dangerously unfit when I become a little allergic to my own sweat and end up getting all itchy on the tread mill! Still, the feeling you get afterwards is worth the scratching and mind-numbing boredom. I feel alive I tell you. Alive! 

From the gym I trundled off to Dalston for a meeting with Alistair from the Kaleidoscope Trust. The subject of conversation was the release of our charity single. I'm being interviewed on Radio
Northampton about it tomorrow morning and Alastair was giving me a set of briefing notes. All very exciting. 

We returned home from Hackney and went to get our car washed by a group of fabulously chirpy Albanians on the A1. They washed the outside rather beautifully and diligently hoovered and polished inside... All done with beaming smiles and for the same cost as a drive-through car wash in an Esso garage. Now our car squeaks when it drives. And who'd have thought it was that shade of blue?

On the way home the elastic went in my boxer shorts, and I realised they'd dropped down to my knees underneath my trousers. Seconds later I realised that they dropped so far down either side of the gusset of said trousers that I found I'd lost the ability to walk up the stairs to my flat, so had to sort of jump. It was mortifying, really. 

Here's my problem. I can't find proper boxer shorts any more. If I wear these new-fangled, figure-hugging jockey trunk things, I end up getting really claustrophobic. The same sort of panic you get when your head gets stuck in a jumper or between the railings of a garden fence. So until I can find something a bit more old school, I shall be wondering around North London looking like I've had a little accident! 

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