This wizard shit is getting out of hand. I really want this square, hooded t-shirt from Complex Geometries, but as far as I can tell it's not available in the UK, which is a bummer of phenomenal proportions. I tried telling myself that this didn't matter because surely sewing two squares of fabric together couldn't be so hard, but I will let you in on a secret, internet - I was telling myself a white lie. I hate myself for it, but what else could I do?
Speaking of hating myself, I also saw a vintage Ossie Clark maxidress today which I convinced myself would be an ideal wedding dress (I'm not actually a Sex And The City-style baby-machine harpy, it was just the only way I could rationalise spending £395), so if any dude out there is interested in a quickie marriage, hollah. I'm kind of surly a lot of the time, but I'm also pretty fucking amazing at certain things which I probably shouldn't refer to on this blog (hint: it ryhmes with "snowfobs"), so it's your choice, buddy. No pressure. I was also going to feed you some crap about how I'd used the photo of Paul to demonstrate how maybe you could propose to me with a heart-shaped balloon or some shit, but I'll give it to you straight - I just think it's awesome and hilarious. See? I would never lie to you!
I'm back in Dorset for Christmas, and this can only mean an even greater dearth of actual content than usual, so I hope your mind is on the pill, because it's about to get well and truly fucked. I just looked in the fridge and I was so bummed-out by its contents that I immediately went for a run. For an hour. I also put on some of that "hint of sun" moisturiser and then actually laughed aloud at myself, because who am I kidding? It's going to take more than "a hint" of sun and hard graft to turn my winter body into anything other than a vehicle for reducing people who were traumatised by Chuck Russell's seminal 1988 film The Blob to regressive tears. Seasonal weight gain, 1. Me, 0.
(Alright, I'll fuck you if you want, but no kissing.)