It Is Horrid To Smirk.

I Like L.a. It's Like A Mini Break. For A Writer, It's Hilarious. Like The Food. Where I Come From, We Eat Chip Sandwiches: White Bread, Butter, Tomato Catsup And Big Fat French Fries. It's Delicious. Here, You Order A Creme Caramel And The Waiter Says, 'you Know, That Contains Dairy.

Can Officially Confirm That The Way To A Man's Heart These Days Is Not Through Beauty, Food, Sex, Or Alluringness Of Character, But Merely The Ability To Seem Not Very Interested In Him.

I Will Not Drink More Than Fourteen Alcohol Units A Week.

Reminded Of Favorite Poem By Wendy Cope Which Goes: At Christmas Little Children Sing And Merry Bells Jingle. The Cold Winter Air Makes Our Hands And Faces Tingle. And Happy Families Go To Church And Cheerily They Mingle, And The Whole Business Is Unbelievably Dreadful If You're Single.

There Are So Many Images Pushed At Women And So Many Ideas Of What You're Supposed To Be. I Think There's Too Much Of This Superwoman, This Woman With A Bottom Like Two Billiard Balls. There's No Real Celebration Of Just Being A Person.