Still 10 st.
0 units alcohol (but the night is young)
2 servings nasty-ass cabbage death soup
1 serving yummy fruit strudel (so sue me)
1 stubbed toe on the tools Phil left in the kitchen
Quiet evening tonight. Phil downstairs watching tv, rats playing on the bed while I’m on the computer, ferrets tucked up warm in the garden shed, snacking on raw mince, snow falling outside. I’m going to go downstairs in a bit, have a glass of scotch warmed with honey, and watch the documentary on Michael Jackson. This is something that is so disturbing and bizarre, you just have to watch it, like sick autopsy footage. He is such a crippled, sad creature. More money than god, of course, and I don’t know if that makes him more or less acceptable.
I’ll be an intellectual tomorrow night, go away and leave me alone. :P