Bless my Brit.
He knows that I've been yearning, itching, dying for a pet for ages. So for Christmas, all wrapped up in his parents garden, was a giant cage, with all the bits.
And we went to choose me a guinea pig yesterday.
Henceforth, let me introduce Wayne On Toast.
Or just Wayne is fine.
He's very skittish and has already pissed all over my faux fur gilet too many times for me to remember. I'm also constantly picking up his stools; the boy can shit let me tell you.
But isn't he just too sweet? We went to Pet World or equivalent yesterday to choose him and thought just getting one would be fine.
But I think he might be lonely, so we're going to collect a Dwayne on the way back to London this afternoon.
Wayne and Dwayne.
And since my Ozzie room mate hasn't consulted me on our new flat mate ("Oh I got a new flatmate for us. Sorry it's not a guy like what we agreed on, and it's a girl who can't speak good English,"), well guess what? I'm bringing home two guinea pigs.