After she’d finished ordering she swung around to face me with all the force of a planet wheeling around a sun, and clearly mistaking me for a friend accompanying her, she barked, “SO LET’S GO THEN!” in her booming lady-tones. Terrified, I may have weed in my pants a little.

Anyway, I was trying to practice my tumble-turns, because I suck at them. Unfortunately there was a hottie in the lane next to mine and I kept getting distracted. Result: lots of water up my nose.  By the time I was done there was snot all over my face, which was gross.

Also, I wore my Speedos under my clothes on the way to the pool and I forgot to pack a change of undies. So I had to go commando on the way home, which isn’t a big deal, really, but on the bus I was paranoid my jeans would fall down and expose my bits to my fellow commuters. My jeans have never fallen down on public transport before, but it would be typical if the first time they fell down came when I was sans underpants.

This is partly because I went on holidays this last weekend. Whenever I go on holidays I figure I’m allowed to eat whatever I like without feeling guilty, because hey – I’m on holidays. Unfortunately this resulted in the consumption of lots of chocolate and cake and ice cream. But on the plus side, I didn’t gain a single pound. Sucked in, people who easily put on weight!

Anyway, things didn’t get any better when I got back to work today. It was someone’s birthday, so of course there was cake. Sweet, delicious, sugary cake. And next week it’s my birthday, and on my birthday I hold myself to the “I can eat whatever I like” rule, so I figure I’ll probably eat a lot of gross food.

On the plus side it’ll probably be carb- and fat-ridden food, instead of just regular sugary junk, which is much better… right?

I used to play tricks like this on my dog all the time, until I moved away from home and my dog went blind and now no one ever pays attention to him because my mum has a new dog now and he just sleeps all day and doesn’t get any pats.

Yes it was FUCKING COLD. And the view from the top was spectacular, assuming you find peering out into a biting foggy haze spectacular. But still, it was pretty cool to get all the way to the top – on the way down I felt superior to all the plebs still hauling themselves up to the top.

I also felt cold. Very, very cold. I had to stop at the toilet block for a wee on the way down, and aside from the fact that my hands were so cold and painful I felt like an arthritic old nanna trying to unbuckle my jeans, my private bits looked appallingly shrivelled and sorry for themselves. Sorry, penis! I’ll try not to subject you to subzero temperatures again if I can help it.

Hee! Aww, and they all came in costume too. My favourite bits include hearing Jamie Bamber’s real accent (I had no idea he’s a Brit until I saw him spruiking Battlestar a few months ago; it was a shock), number six being read by Number 6, and number five, which is read by Tigh and made me LOL.

His mate later says, “Haha, everything here has ‘Mc’ in its name”.

These men are not worldly.

Anyway, I don’t usually eat McDonald’s but on Good Fridays I always make a point of eating meat, which you’re not supposed to do on Good Friday unless it’s fish, and Maccas is the only place that’s open. I don’t eat meat on Good Friday to spite Christianity (well, I do, but that’s not the main reason), but because the whole not-eating-meat thing is a tradition that so many non-Christian Australians follow for absolutely no reason.

So basically, I ate my McChicken McTandoori McRoll to McSpite those ovine idiots.

I don’t think I’ll EVER forgive the French for having something as stupid as “quatre-vingt-dix”. This is the French word for ninety, but instead of having a nice simple word for that number their word translates literally to “four twenties ten”. Their words for eighty (quatre-vingt, “four twenties”) and seventy (soixante-dix, “sixty ten”) are equally dumb.

(Note: in some French-speaking countries that aren’t France they actually do have words for seventy, eighty and ninety that aren’t ridiculous combinations of other numbers. This is une bonne idée, France. Please make a note of it.)

But the French do have some cute constructions to make up for their silly numbers, and here’s one of them: j’ai faim and j’ai soif. These translate to “I am hungry” and “I am thirsty”, but they literally translate to “I have hunger” and “I have thirst”. Isn’t that adorable?