I’m sitting in bed wearing a Christmas tree-shaped woolly hat and a fleece hoodie over my pyjamas, thinking about what I thought my twenties would look like (late night car drives, whimsical conversations in arty coffee shops, etc.) and what it actually looks like. I can’t really remember what my head looks like without a hat attached to it.
Speaking of cars, I still haven’t found one. It’s almost tempting to sell the Mini and not replace it, but I have no easy way to get to clients otherwise. It’s tempting to run the maths to see if it’s cheaper to use public transport and the odd cab (I don’t know if Uber’s quite made it to Southend) but given I’m wearing a woolly hat in bed, it’s possible I’m not cut out for standing at bus stops in the dead of winter. I’ve also watched a lot of episodes of Luther and have an overactive imagination. The planet, though. Ugh.
I just had a nose at used car listings and god it is dire. Not sure why people think they’re going to sell their 2003 KA when its MOT is almost up and its clutch needs fixing. That isn’t a £300 car, my dude. If I weren’t shit at riding a bike and terrified of riding a bike on roads, I’d get a bicycle. Nice and clean, free exercise, cheers.
Send help or I’m going to keep the Mini until my left hip falls out of its socket.
