So there was this one girl who was staring at me in West City and I don't even know why because I didn't even look weird for once, I was wearing my school uniform with my hair pinned back at the front. And I wasn't leaping around or anything, I was waiting in line for the ATM.
I need to go and decide what to wear to-morrow as I suspect it will be cold.
Just a second.
My grandmother has called up to talk about where to scatter her neighbour's ashes and where in his flat he's hidden his funeral money.
He isn't even dead. He's just sick.
God I would make a good television programme.
I want to see Heathers.
I need to post in this voting form thing. Which I'm quite enjoying because I'm not even eighteen yet. Almost.
Tribute bands are disgusting.
The mother has eighty-seven sick days remaining after taking two weeks off.
I don't like it when ugly men talk about women. They just shouldn't be allowed.
It's just all going to go on in the same way for ever and ever for me and everyone.
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