Etcha-Sketches for my Sweetheart...

It's nearly Christmas. How unfortunate.

I say this, because whilst I genuinely do believe it to be overrated, I've just got home from a most tedious shift at work, where they have started playing Christmas songs. On loop. For hour upon torturous hour. By the time I was finally allowed to leave, I was ready to punch all festive pre-Christmas revellers and spit on their mince pies. Of course, being the model employee I am (sometimes), I didn't. But the impulse was strong.

Elsewhere. Yesterday afternoon I ventured out into the chilly Ipswich air to watch a bit of rugby. I am still utterly clueless as to what the rules actually are (to me it seems like wrestling, but outdoors), but surprisingly I was entertained. Probably something to do with hot older boys in tight shorts on the other pitch, but whatever. I was there, I was sort of a supportive sister. Paid my dues.

There was also the welcome "Colly, we love/adore/worship you; you make up for the lack of Monty, you're a good ol' northern underdog" conversation. It's all been said already, but a double hundred? And pissing off ol' Warney? Hell, he's my hero too.

"Shane...I think I'm pregnant..." Funny. Very funny.

Ben is getting me Sketches for my Sweetheart... for Christmas, thus elevating himself to the 'most valuable friend' position. I'm so mercenary. But he knows it, and still he's my friend. So now the search begins to find him something really impressive. I can feel a Christmas stress migrane coming on.