It's another hot Saturday night in the westest part of Wales. Earlier on this evening, my sister refused to let me watch Crocodile Dundee 2. My parents (seperated, but not divorced. It's been 5 years people!) have been standing outside in the pouring rain for an hour and a half, having a 'discussion'. The arseholes on E-Bay are charging £60 a ticket for Coldplay.
I had a panic attack on the train back from Brighton on Tuesday, tears, snot, the works. When I motioned to the man next to me that I needed him to move, he smiled and said, 'Are you getting off here?'. I couldn't look at him for fear of him seeing my tears and snot, so mumbled 'yes' into my lap. He, oblivious to my tears and snot, laughed and said, 'what if I don't let you?'. The completely irrational mood I was in meant that I then whimpered 'please' and probably dribbled down my front or something. He clearly thought that I thought he was going to hold me hostage with a banana in his pocket, because he got up straight away and shot off down the carriage. In normal circumstances, I would probably have thought he was quite funny.
Mr Unsuitable is back from honeymoon, and keen to meet up. Was keen to meet up, because it's been a week of irrationality, and I've managed to completely mess that up by telling him I wasn't available when I was, and then planning to meet up a mutual friend, who was all set to invite him, so having to construct further lies and am now being treated to a nipple icing silence.
Maybe they'll repeat Crocodile Dundee 2.