I've been into the West End twice in two days, and failed to buy anything except a new duvet, which I needed anyway on account of the old one resembling a large, greying slice of ham. So much for Christmas treats. I didn't help my mood by attempting to spend a WH Smiths book token in Books Etc, and receiving short shrift. I just don't help myself, in general. I do things like: glance at a poster advertising a new bar in the West End, which contains the phrase:
“Baba-cool attitude, esprit loft, cocooning, burrowing, lounging…”
I could have saved myself expending approx 250mg of hatred by not reading this, but read I did. And now look at the state of me.
Two traditional Christmas images:
1. Rick Wakeman in the Oxford Street branch of Reiss.

2. A bag of Blue Nun on the clearance shelf at Sainsburys. I didn't buy it.



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