Well well well.
I have nothing to say.
My blogging well, it would seem, has dried up. It is now useless.
And I also need to straighten my hair.
In fact, there are many things I need/should be doing.
For example, my personal statement. Except I'm not going to do that, because I showed it to someone, and they laughed in my face. In fact, it was the second version of it that I'd written, and yes, I had been laughed at for the first one too. So, you know. Bit of a confidence squasher there, really. Basically, I may as well just chuck it away, and go and live in a cage on Box Hill. Why there? Because there are lots of trees. I expect visitors from time to time, but mainly I shall be a hermit. I shall let my toe nails grow long, and my beard grow out, and I shall look just like Nabucodonosor. That's right. And nobody shall care, for I have been a single, friendless Bishop since 1837. I think that was when Queen Victoria came to the throne. I can't really remember - I studied Victorianism in Year Six. So you know.
Also, I am going to be in change of an 18 year old German au pair called Sarah. When I say change, I actually mean charge. But it matters not. Details, details, my pretties. I feel sorry for her, as we are a scary lot. Never mind.
Anywho, nothing else to report.
I might go to bed now.
And CRY myself to sleep.
Sobbage 2006.
Lalala.
2 comments:
I still lovies you young stripey one.
I like Boxhill.
I shall come visit you when I come and flit amongst stepping stones.
As that place makes me happy inside.
SHAKE THAT ASS FOR ME.
x
Don't worry, Mr Holloway thought my personal statement was the funniest thing since Jimmy Carr on a hot tin roof.
Which I imagine would be funny.
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