Urgh!
I think I may have me first ever hangover.
First drink: Pint o'cider with 2 shots of Goldschlager and a shot of cherry sambuca in. Nom...ish!
Second drink: Cheeky Vimto with vanilla vodka and the-something-else-I-can't-recall.
No drinks mixer or cocktail expert, me!
Although a tasty, yet cheeky, little number, it did induce a somewhat huge depressive bout of misery, and severely impede my mojo somewhat!
AND my so-called stalker isn't as stalkery as made out! In fact, not to much Stalkery Xym as Ignore The Xym Entirely And Not Even Glance At Them.
Unless my identification of The Stalker is different to the one who actually spoke to The Stalker and identified the Pretty as such.
So perhaps who I think it is may just be wishful thinking (isn't it always, Xym?), and the one who is actually enamoured of me is someone totally different (ha! as if anyone would be enamoured of The Xym, great bloated fat visually challenged trollbag that he is! THAT'S wishful thinking).
Nope - just couldn't get into it last night. So I left early for a burger.
And some feckers nicked the burger van and it's vendors!
And then I has to wait for the taxi whilst yound men pass by announcing "You! I know you! You're always in Starbucks of a morning, by the window!"
How come hot nubile young Pretties never notice me in mah window, and come chat me up down The WhatACunt? WHY is it always young men eager to get to know my acquaintance?
Oh well, c'est la vie (that's French for "Oh well, where's the lavvy". No not French - Hot Irish Pretties B*Witched language. Apparently they'll show me theirs if I show them mine. In a tree. Ha! I just bet I'd get arrested if I took them up on THAT offer!)
