The more concerned and curious inquirers often ask me what I would do if I got seriously ill. While the long answer is complicated and nuanced, honestly, I don’t know.
For some reason I can’t read this without giggling.
grauni’s gone DiS!! jfc
There’s a decent reply here, too:
This article has infuriated me.
If I would pay for two May ball tickets, she suggested, she would auction one, pay me back for both, and live on the (slim) profits for the balance of term.
Fucking yeah. Touting. That is how you sort your daughters sense of entitlement out.
How do you spend £600 a week when your room and food is already covered? Designer clothes shopping spree?
Also, I seriously doubt you could make enough profit on a May Ball ticket to live for a term.
C-C-C-C-C-Cetc.
Drugs are notoriously expensive in Cambridge.
Recent example of an outdated meme
enjoyed this
Jonze used to write for the NME about ten years ago, didn’t he? What a strangely horizontal career.
Tim Jonze?
Indeed he did. Difference being, the Libertines always sent me to sleep. Can’t remember the last time I dozed off after a Latte.
Can’t imagine either type of smug, watery, over-advertised bullshit being anything like as useful as a sleep aid tbh.
I distinctly recall falling asleep in a single bed with my ex one New Year on the West Sussex Coast with ‘Up the Bracket’ shitting itself out of the room next door.
My housemate’s music of choice for having sex with his biologist girlfriend was the Zutons.
Images of what occurred when Abi blew her Sax on record defy imagination.
Long Time Coming?
Seem to remember them never making it past Confusion.
