Guardian Girl

Dotty

Psychopathic

I just gave my workmate the fright of her life when she came round the corner and saw me standing in the corridor (my dear photographer was out of view) looking like a waxwork out of the London Dungeons a few hundred years in the future. I think she thought something inside me had finally snapped.

Where do I even start today? The hair is part mullet, part alopecia. The make-up looked OK at 10am but, three hours later, has slithered off into obscurity. If you unbuttoned my blouse you’d see a ghoulish visage glaring back at you, waxy and eyeless, its glossy pink mouth grinning with navel-hair teeth and a wobbling tongue of cellulite. I’m frightening myself… I’m clawing at myself…Get it off me!

Already bored of my new fashion-only regime. How many new things can one think of to say about one’s dim corridor lighting and thick ankles? I think tonight I’m going to have to invite Hugh back into my kitchen.

GG: Hugh? Hugh? Huuuuuugghhhhh?

HFW: (echoes) Hello? Hello? God help me! Hello?

GG: You can come back up now!

HFW: Huu… urghh.. I can’t…. climb the…. ladder – you broke my legs…. with a rolling pin…. in case…. you’d forgotten! Hell I…. I can’t even see the…. the ladder in this pitch… fucking… black, you freak…. you fucking psycho….. you bitch!

GG: It’s OK Hugh, just calm down, I’ll help you up using these ropes and you can show me how to cook chickpea pancakes – it’ll be just like the old days Hugh!

HFW: (Sounds of imminent death)

On a less repressively violent note, I have been reading Oliver Burkeman’s column and taking it very seriously.

I have carefully copied out all the quotes he mentions on to bright orange Post-it notes and stuck them to my monitor at work. Because this has made me feel like such a detestable moron, I have drawn small penises all over the Post-it notes to subtly indicate to any passing colleagues that I don’t really take all this claptrap too seriously. I’m not sure if it exactly helps matters – why would the quotes be there if I didn’t take them seriously? How does drawing pictures of genitals in the office ever help people respect you more? Why do I do it so often then? – so I might cut those penises off.

Heheh.

I’m off to Pritt Stick up some ransom letters. I will see you tomorrow, farting through a diaphanous dress while hitting the keyboard arbitrarily and hoping something funny comes out.

Conclusions:

• GO CONFIDENTLY IN THE DIRECTION OF YOUR DREAMS!
• I must also remember to use these ransom note scissors to cut the Peter Pan collars off my clothes
• Also looks like I’ll be popping off to buy a cheap crombie after work. If I buy a cheap crombie, will a tree fall somewhere in the Brazilian rainforest? It literally might, mightn’t it?