"Hi, It's Steve, Can I Speak to the Foetus Please?"

Sunday evening. Woahness. Sorry, Joe, Ogg, whoever else that annoys, but the 'ness' was necessary. So.... the trains were having (mental) breakdowns, and it was raining, so my hair went curly. That was irrelevant. And slightly scary. Just on a random note, though, I would like to state here and now that water melon jelly babies are WEIRD. Who invented that? That is actually insane. But anyway, back to Sunday and its yayness. No wait, I'm just gonna get my gloves. There we go. Did you miss me? Thought not. ANYWAY. So Sunday was great. Ogg's house is groovesomeness on a stick. I truly mean that. But not in a literal sense, 'cause that would be weird. I can't imagine that. What does groovesomeness look like anyway? No, that's off the point. What was the point? I love the word point. SHUT UP.

I shall give a brief summary of Sunday, as I can't seem to make any sense. I suggest that you try to construct these keywords into some sort of coherent sentences. Oli Gill and Emma canoodling. Steve and Ogg awwwwness. Joe and Kris cuteness. Cassie alonio. Return of zippy. Huge lump of hair chopped off. Last of the Summer Wine with ad-libs. Songs of Praise. Kama Sutra (yeesh). Tickle fights. Arm linkage. AMAZING piano playing. AWFUL piano playing. Red leather sofas. Nails dug into arm. Steve's boney arse. Nice male tummies with interesting slogans.

I think that just about covers it. Yep. Do you know (no, of course you don't) that I spent nearly eleven hours at school today. Out of choice. How disgusting is that? Very, that's how disgusting. I should very likely be locked up. Thank the Lord I'm not claustrophobic, that's all I can say. Hold on. There's a good point. What if some prisoner is claustrophobic? Bloody hell.