You know those days where you wake up at twenty past five and realise pretty quickly that there’s zero chance of regaining peaceful sleep so you just get up and are therefore at your desk by 7am?
Me too!
Christ. My body thinks it’s ten at night. On the plus side, I’ve got loads done, like flipping out that we’re virtually halfway through the year when I can guarantee it was February last week.
Speaking of fleeting memories: the Kremlin must be on a time delay if they think banning Nick Clegg from entering Russia has any political klout. That being said, there is an awful lot of false hope in the news at the moment. I understand very little about football, but my spidey senses are indicating that Sepp Blatter’s about to make a spectacular proverbial own goal.
… And when he does, the jokes might even make it all worthwhile.
Right, it’s now my bedtime.
