Wednesday, October 28, 2009
dove's washing detergent
Dove: So what should we have for dinner – chicken frikkadels or mini pizzas designed for kids at birthday parties?
Peas: Both. Bring it.
Dove: So tell me everything.
Peas: [tells her everything].
Peas: Yeah. Except you’re going to Nepal in three days. To teach monks English. Voluntarily.
You’re a saint. Now there’s something you don’t hear me saying everyday.
Dove: I know, am slightly terrified.
Isn’t my little friend so brave? She’s quit her job, and is headed to Nepal for a month to teach a clutch of very religious men the English word. Or at least how to say, ‘Hi, how are you.’
I love Dove. She offers me washing powder for my 8 loads of laundry sitting at home in a disposable Tupperware because I haven’t had time to go to the shops yet.
I can chat to her frankly about any old shit and she just gets it.
In other news, I got a bunch of incredible – new/this century/now – minimal techno music from him in London. It’s all I can listen to.
I can’t get hold of the Mexican Embassy. So what else is new.
I love blush. Probably more than mascara.
Wrenched open my DVD player with a knife this morning. I thought wedging a knife into an electrical appliance would induce a toaster-in-the-bath tub effect. Came out unscathed. But if the CD player wasn't fucked before, it is now.
I am completely high on Nurofen this morning. Hence the scattered post.