Rain, money and hoes

So it’s thunder and lightninging and I’ve got a big ole skanky cyst I’m getting operated on tomorrow, THINGS JUST COULDN’T BE GOING BETTER. A few days of antibiotic consolation cost me 80€ and also Spotify just barred me for existing outside of the UK, how compassionate of them, I feel like ripping my face off and writing them a plaintive email. What's more I’ve lost like a stone so I’m shuffling around like Charlie Chaplin trying to stop my clothes humourously slithering off. Mmmm I’ve been living off tinned sweetcorn because it’s actually the best food in the universe, but I’ve also bought a 65 cent advent calendar and I think I’ll eat one chocolate every 2 days just to prolong my disturbingly extreme xmas anticipation. What else… I joined a theatre group in an attempt to be mildly social and so have found myself every Wednesday evening in peculiar contortions on the floor whilst screaming French tongue twisters, who said transnational integration couldn’t be curiously erotic? Which brings me to slutwalk, fun to a degree, but when that degree is passed and there are 4 naked women getting low to Pussy Riot making onlookers feel awkward and thus deciding to hastily put their clothes back on, you start to wonder what the real message is… “I’m going to take all my clothes off and you’re not allowed to find me hot because I’m protesting” (not that they were anyway, no offence). Women here also grate my fromage because they ALL wear those butters ‘wedge trainers’; footwear which has absolutely zero practical or attractive qualities, if you ever see me hypocritically wearing a pair, remove them and compress them into pasta shapes to feed me. I’m still trying to get my head round these people. The men kiss each other but isn’t that delightful? Perhaps the only cultural habit I will (somehow) intrepidly bring back to the UK and impose on society. Be ready for the metrosexual eurotrash.