I love replacing my feelings and high levels of anxiety with new clothes.

And that’s what I did yesterday.

Obviously this is only an interim fix for deeply rooted issues, but fuck it, a girl’s gotta do etc. etc.

I could get a therapist, I could take baby steps to deal with my angst, or I could just buy something, feel temporarily good and then continue with my potty mouth vulgarity and put on a brave face.

Really, it’s all just invisible non-existent monsters anyway… Like the one who lived with the loo rolls in my bathroom cupboard when I was a child.

Damn I just let my guard down for a second then and showed a level a vulnerability. Fuck that, let’s get back to cursing.

So I think we’ve been home about a week now and it’s whizzed by.

My dear friend Lord R held a genteel garden party in the grounds of his most delightful estate.

The fizz flowed, the cakes devoured. The party came to a halt around midnight when the bells chimmed and the Big Kahuna promptly bellyflopped into the carp pond… Not exactly Mr D’arcy, more drowning bullfrog.

The following evening we enjoyed the delights of gourmet cuisine and another 58 bottles of fizz.

Our super-duper hostess with the mostess not only fed us a delicious supper but we were treated to a spellbinding sunset and a wheelbarrow race.

Note to brain tumour people: Not recommended when recovering from brain surgery… Likely one will fall and knock one’s noggin. Guilty.

Our hot hostess got so trollied she offered me a 10k designer coat from her vast collection.

Initially I declined such a generous gift but after some consideration decided ‘Fuck it’… I have a brain tumour after all.

So off I trotted home feeling like a million dollars.. well 10k at least.

Phone rang next morning… It was hot hostess ‘Um hi babe, any chance I can get my coat back?’

‘Well you could,’ was my response ‘But I already sold it on eBay.’

Damn it, shit-faced people do some bloody marvellous charitable work, why can’t they just stay shit-faced.

*Last time we got wasted together (at a charity auction) we bid on a ‘luxury’ vacay to the Canaries.

Turned out to be an anus of an apartment in the testicle of TenerGRIEF hosted by a lardass landlady with a serious psychotic disorder. However, we still had a fabulous time.

More gorgeous friends arrived from afar.

My godson visited and expertly demonstrated how to announce to the world he needed a shit, how it’s totally acceptable to pass out in a bar when you’ve had your fill of fish finger sandwiches and how there’s nothing to be ashamed of in picking one’s nose and eating it if a swift salty snack is required.

Kids have no comprehension of crudity and why should they? Let them live unashamedly and without judgement while they can still get away with it… And give their godparents a good laugh at the same time.

Further tales of the unexpected to follow.


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