Umm umm umm, I dunno what to write. Can't write about work becos I dun wanna get Alan Sugar'ed... Can't write about the husband cos he doesn't inspire to much. Can't write about me for fear of being called a narcissistic cow... Hmmm what can I write about? The piss taking of the Subway boys when they found out I'd lost my voice? Na, boring. People who pick their nose on the tube? Na, too vomit making. Oh by the way this Chinese guy was really going for it the other day, and he was seated next to me as well, I switched places straight away, but I really wanted to ask him if he wanted a shovel to help him dig deeper. The son of a bitch. Pick your nose at home FUCKER! Where no one else can see you.

Oh yeah yeah, just got a brainwave! It's not about work but it happened at work. I was walking on the ramp from gate 8 to 21, and by the time I arrived at my destination, I couldn't speak! "Why?" you may well ask, but because MY FACE WAS FROZEN BECAUSE OF THE FUCKING COLD! It's back! The cold's back!

Whatever (Who cares? Not me)

Lemme try again.

Today for breakfast I had toast with chunky peanut butter and Bonne Maman Strawberry jam. With coffee. Yummy! In Mauritius we only have smooth peanut butter right? I'm not so sure now. Like, I can't remember what my room looks like. I can, but some of the finer details evade me. It's sad.

Oooh I'm writing boring stuff again!

I watched "The Last King of Scotland" last night. It was this movie about this chap called Amin Didi or Dada or Idi or Ida, I don't know. He was a dictator I think in Uganda and he expelled all the Asians from there. It was not really clear through all the steam. I was ironing at the same time you see and the tv was on a low volume and the husband was sleeping. In total I ironed 14 shirts and 2 pairs of trousers and 2 scarves (mine) and 2 skirts (mine as well). 6 shirts for me, the rest for the husband (That's 14 minus 6) 1 pair of trousers for me and the other pair for him.

And last week, no week before last, like 2 Saturdays ago we went to this nightclub called Guarabana, it's a Brasilian club (in Covent Garden, not Brasil), and I was ordering drinks from this waiter (Note, I said waiter, not "cute" waiter. I think maybe I would have thought he's cute if I weren't married). The cheeky sod said to me "I speak Portuguese, you can order in Portuguese" He knew I was Asian (I'm not, I'm Indo-Mauritian, I just look Asian) So I went "Ok! Eu haver um Mojito por favor!" His fucking mouth dropped open to the floor and Kevin and Vikram stopped talking and turned round to stare at me. He just said "Ok, ok..." And I just added the cherry on top by saying "Obrigada", with a smile! Hehehe. That was fun.