It is a week until Valentines day. That date that nobody really likes, despite how bitter it could sound to admit it. It puts couples under pressure, single people under pressure, widowed or divorced people out of sync and those who don’t define to traditional monogamy to feel slightly out of place, (Disagree? How many big table bookings at Valentines day do you see? Full of a large poly families? Exactly.), The date has given the colour pink a bad reputation and timing wise
It's 00:07. I am sitting in an old student room in Pembroke College, Cambridge. I am sitting on teh end of an old World War II Campbed which a soldier definitely died in (and has questionable mahogony stains on it....) and I'm watching Pippa, the owner of said bed, rub Manuka Honey on her face. Pippa is one of my oldest friends and one of the most dazzling. Imagine the love child of Mildred Hubble and Keira Knightley's interpretaion of Lizzie Bennett. Very clever, smart, and
I missed yesterday's blog. Naughty me. The reason behind this is because I decided to up sticks and stay on the sofa of my longest and most detested best friend, Mick* (NAME CHANGED FOR PRIVACY REAONS :P ) . 7 years my senior, he's the step-brother I never had. We give eachother mutual love and contempt - my birthday card for his thirtieth was a giant moonpig card with the words I AM SO GLAD YOU ARE NOT DEAD YET emblazoned on it in pink. It's a wonderfully stable friendship.