OH HI FEBRUARY. How you doing hun?
So it’s official. February has turned up out of nowhere. Like that ASOS parcel you drunk ordered and I mean you’re happy to see it and all but also like I CANNOT LOOK AT MY BANK BALANCE RIGHT NOW.
So yeah, thanks for that.
Also whilst I’m giving a passive aggressive shout out gonna have to give a wave to the weather that seems to be so PMS/hormonal/mood-swinging and can’t decide what it wants for dinner so just eats a block of cheese.
Seriously. This is the third day in a row where I’ve left the house in an outfit completely suitable for what the BBC Weather App is telling me only to find that the temperature the BBC seems to be relaying was actually meant for someone sitting on the equator.
I’m South of the river, not south of the Canary Islands babes.
And then I have to stand huddled in a bus stop wishing I had just left the house in my pyjamas or wrapping my scarf around my shins or something equally un-Pinterest worthy. Like yeah I hear Chiara Ferragni does this all the time actually.
So although we all know how much of a winter fan I am – it’s all about getting fat, eating my body weight in pizza and all the breads, staying under the duvet and having extra long showers without bed-partner shouting at me about using up all the hot water.
Soz mate maybe you should try getting up when the alarm goes off?!! HOW ABOUT THAT.
I am really starting to eye up summer.
Because obviously in the summer everyone doesn’t have to work for months, just drinks all the wine outside on a deck (need to quickly make some friends who own a fleet of boats) and saunters off to lie on a beach and occasionally check an email or something.
That’s definitely how I remember it right?
Also 99% of this excitement probably stems from the fact I’ve booked TICKETS TO NEW YORK – all the screams – for June and I have really high instant-gratificiation levels and can’t wait for long.
Just want to be at the airport Duty Free buying a Toblerone and singing Frank Sinatra. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?
But for the mean time, whilst I still can barely bring myself to walk to Pret because the wind is determined to scalp-me and the biting cold deprive me of my extremities. Yeh sure I didn’t need five fingers anyway.
I’ll just have to imagine summer.
Or one step better, go into Whistles and stroke all of their white linen and cotton.
Perfect for all the yachts that I’m going to be owning by July. Yeah definitely.