When simultaneously very busy and very hungry, eating dollops of Marmite off your fingers somehow changes from vile, slovenly concept of hideousness to reasonable, practical action of guilty pleasure.

Yellow fever jabs give you a dead arm. Which is still better than being completely dead. I assume.

I really need a cleaner. Or to somehow catch OCD off someone. Possible?

It's horrible hurting people. But sometimes inevitable - and, weirdly, right.

My mum makes better chocolate brownies than Gu. Fact. Of course, it helps that she uses Green & Blacks chocolate. Drool.

Getting a straight answer out of the NHS is possibly one of the most laughable concepts in existence. Apart from getting a straight answer out of me, that is. Sometimes.

I'm starting to really rather like babies. As long as they a) belong to good friends of mine, b) are cute as hell, c) are of the distinctly non-squally variety and d) don't require me to change their nappies.

I am, quite possibly, the most disorganised person in the world. Ever.

Space is good. Space is, sometimes, exactly what is required.

This time next week, I shall be in Peru. PERU! PERU!!!!

Thanks, all.

x

machu picchu