So, having said I would abandon going to Victorious festival this year to spend time with Mr Sheena and having spent all day yesterday indoors and not drinking (his parents and then the cinema), he's gone and got a fucking migraine and I'm sat indoors doing nothing waiting for him to try and get better.
Good Morning darlings. I have got a decent crowd coming here later despite the terribly late notice of informing them about my garden party today. I have managed to sort out a DJ, and I already have enough booze to sink a ship. Food prepared, and time to kick back and enjoy the marvellous weather. Have a fab day all.
I'm going out for lunch with mother. We'll spend about an hour deciding where we will eat, with her refusing anything vaguely exotic, me refusing Wetherspoons, and end up settling for Bella Italia where neither of us will be satisfied.
It's not my greatest poem but I feel the unwillingness to conform to standard form and metre, let alone rhyming conventions, is what give it power and resonance.
Actually I always find hash browns to be faintly displeasing, which isn’t to say that I won’t eat them. Very slightly raw edge. I’d much rather find delicious creamy mashed potato inside but I suppose that would make it a croquette