Hello leaf of death.
After some passive-aggressive skullduggery, I found my chair in a random building depot at the bottom of the building.
Dude. We have an ESC key chair.
My Brit is a geek, so he is especially happy it wasn't stolen.
On that positive note, three things:
The Brit informed me yesterday that I am allowed to vote in this country.
Dude. This is huge. I want to run for prime minister and sort out the youth of Britain
A letter found it's way to our postbox about registering to vote for both national and municipal elections and dude. Commonwealth countries that live in the UK can fucking vote.
Spank my thigh and call me Doris, I can VOTE, motherfucker.
I was told - rudely mind you - at a dinner party by someone that I shouldn't have an opinion if I am not a British national.
This was concerning the youth and the riots, of course. I shouldn't have an opinion? Dude. Are you kidding me?
Well guess what. I can vote. Which means, by default, the country is saying because I fucking live here - I can at the very least - have an opinion. Maybe it's also because I pay taxes, work hard and can't claim benefits.
Still. Pissed. Off.
My mother and I are going to travel around Eastern Europe in a Skoda
Dude. We're doing it. My mum is coming over, and we're going on a mother-daughter tour around Czech Republic, Poland, Slovakia and Hungary in October.
And we're doing it in a Skoda.
Bosnia will have to wait for a long weekend with mates.
Did I spot an orange leaf through the park this morning?
Riding through Battersea Park as I do, and the plane trees that arch over the path were all green and lovely, as they are in summer - except! Hark! What the fuck is that?
An orange fucking leaf.
Dude. There must be some mistake. August is the height of summer in this gaff. The leaf must just be a genetic mutation.
It must just be the reject in a herd of leaves.
I am most concerned. Summer here has been amazing. And this very leaf threatens my sunny disposition something chronic.