Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Penis size really does matter

Tonight I logged into my letters from london email account, and instead of a myriad of offers to write mind-blowingly amazing articles for magazines like Vanity Fair and the New Yorker (a girl can dream), I got five spam emails about how penis size really does matter. Like I need to be told that. Let's settle this once and for all OK? Yes it does matter. There, I've said it.

Recently, I've come to love my pyjamas so much I'm thinking of throwing out all my regular clothes and just buying a whole lot of different pairs of pj's. The lovely woman who cleans our house turned up this week and just looked at me sadly. It was midday and I was still wearing my pyjamas, and not even a good pair, but ones with a big rip in the trousers. She was too nice to comment, but before leaving she said to me in the nicest tone of voice, "You should do some washing - really, I'll iron it for you." Point taken.

I've also become square-eyed from watching too much TV. I'd love to say I use my solitary spare time to get my charcoals out and start doing sketches, or re-pot my plants, or give myself pedicures and facials. But no, that would be far too virtuous and productive.

Right now I am a big fan of Shark with James Woods. It's basically House, but set in the legal world. This is fine by me as I've always been a bit of a sucker for a crime investigation drama - and I'm not too fussy about it having to be overly intellectual. Then there's America's Next Top Model - always good to remind one's self of just how cruel us women can be to each other. And then there's good old fashioned Prime Suspect, with the brilliant Helen Mirren, who even in that, looks like the Queen - albeit in a hard-drinking tough-talking kind of way.

On a positive note my grandmother, who was in hospital with suspected pneumonia (but what later turned out to be a severe case of bronchitis), is out of danger and making culinary demands on my mother - a surefire sign she's on the mend. Apparently the hospital food is shit. I'd like to say she's fussy because she's supposedly in quite a nice place, but hospital food is unequivocally shit anywhere in the world, so she probably has a point.

Right, and now it's time for a bit of Marian Keyes and then bed. Oh, and what luck - it just so happens I'm already in my pyjamas.

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