I've had a good day. I had to brave the journey into Wolverhampton to drop off an essay, and despite being a tad nervous about the trip there and back it went splendidly well:
Number of times I slipped over - 0
Number of snowballs thrown at me by little scrotes - 0
Trains on time - 2
Once in Wolvo, I dropped off the essay to a rather pretty blonde in the office, picked up some splendid books (many thanks Ben), tried to bribe a lecturer and then went shopping.
Here's something you don't know ladies - you think men don't like being dragged around the shops, right? That's not quite true - what we don't like is being dragged around women's shops.
Shoes. Handbags. Dresses. Underwear. Shoes. Make-up. Perfume. Cosmetics. More bloody shoes. This is what we do not like. Think of it in this simple term - we're far more interested in you taking your underwear off then trying it on for an hour in a humid shop changing room area.
But, shops. Proper shops. By golly, I'm a fan. I emerged from the high street after a fun hour with new XBox games, new books, new darts, food and drink. I would have stayed longer, but a) I had a train to catch and b) I had no room left in my bag. A shame, as I would love a new jumper and some new jeans.
I then have arrived home to find that Liz McClarnon, that lovely little Atomic Kitten sexpot, is following me on Twitter.
It's been a good day. I'm now going to read the Sloppy Star's letters page. Fingers crossed for a Slarkie special!