editing upside-down Welsh text
realising that if someone tried to fire me during a job interview, I’d probably laugh and pat them on the head (I’ve been reading too much Anna Pickard)
thinking that if they ever make an R Kelly biopic, it’ll be amazing
wondering why the hell there were two metal nail files in my microwave
rediscovering the joys of breakfast
helping my sis move to Hebden Bridge, a town which is somehow entirely uphill
singing along to Dusty Bottoms, Lucky Day and Ned Nederlander.