Saturday, 31 December 2011

Charlotte is too drunk for The Rapture.

I am so, fucking, astonishingly BORED.

I'm on the sofa.

I have vodka.

Alan Carr is on telly.

And at the risk of disappointing my reader (Hi Mum), I'm actually not that miserable.

New Years Eve is upon me, in an hour and a half it will be 2012 and life will suddenly be shiny and bright.

Yes, okay. I'm not that drunk.

I suspect that life in an hour or so will be pretty much the same as now. I'll be poor. I'll have children. I will be a spectacularly unsuccessful author. The washing up will still not do itself. Dammit, the ironing fairies will still not visit me.

The only thing that I ask is that The Rapture doesn't happen at 12am.

It's not that I'm scared of death - being ripped from my mortal playground leaving just my rather grubby Burberry tracksuit bottoms (piss off - I got them when Burberry was still cool) and my horribly stained t-shirt (no excuse there) doesn't bother me. The liklyhood of (how the hell do you spell that? I told you I was a bit pissed) my immediate entrance into Heaven - is small. But then - Oh for crying out loud - perhaps I shouldn't have had that last vodka.

Anyway - I just paid my Virgin Media bill and if I have to go to hell now, I'll be really fucked off.

And I hoovered. Dammit.

Happy New Year. x


  1. You have another reader...probably in as rotten a state as you, hon. It's 2012 and life ain't shiny and bright...yet. xxxxx

  2. I'm so delighted that you're with me. Let's sulk together. xxx

  3. Love it. Give it some Charlotte. Love your writing style. Keep entertaining us mere mortals. Cheers Txx

  4. Ergh - I'll try to work through the gloom and the Smirnoff. They're a dulling combination. x

  5. If only you'd write more I'd read more. I am pathetically pleased when I see a new post of yours on my blog roll.

    Happy new year. If those ironing fairies visit or perhaps the hoovering ones or the change the sheets on the beds ones, send them over won't you?

  6. Ah, your flattery puffs me up like a particularly puffy puffer fish. Am about to blog about my mother's driving. I feel the risk to the maternal relationship is worth the comedy value. xxx