Back of the bog door in the Barge inn at the weekend?

Easy if out and about i make up stories about the skin bags walking past. Like massive drama , think corrie on acid. Or on tube or bus when someone is sat opposite change the way you cross your legs or arms and watch them change too, 5 points for everyone you convert. Or game of sweet or sour, smile at passing people if they smile back they're sweet, if they dont their a twat.

My habits are more snack based, little bits, often and everywhere. Probably why i am the size I am tbf. Usually in little notebooks that i collate into bigger notebooks, using the A,B or Crap labelling system. The A and Bs go forward to being typed up. But whilst typing if it bores me it doesn't make the cut.

True story. Job : community psychiatric nurse. Panel of 5 multi discipline interviewers including a service user. Each interviewer took it in turn to grill me on topics like the law, rights and responsibilities, ethical decisionmaking. The last to ask their question was the service user. I went blank, nothing, so I blurted out "help me Ob1kenobe, your my only hope" .....utter silence and disbelief from the panel. I exit room.

I was born in Bradford. End sentence? The hamlet was called Moscow on the out skirts of Thornton. (Where the Brontes were born) I played on the Bradford city's rubbish tip as it was on the back door step, got all my toys , prams , needle stick injuries from there. Fun fact it is now classed as one of the most toxic sites in Britain. But I turned out ok. insert picture of a fat middle-aged myopic woman writing this using the neon glow permanently emanating from around her head.