Out on the moors, The lonely moors, I roll around in sheep poo. Heathcliff, it's youuuuu, I hate you, I love you tooooo. Let me in, I'm here, it's meeeee, Catheeeeeeee. Look out of your windooooow.
When we did eventually get to the party - me walking next to Dad's Volvo driving at five miles an hour - I had a horrible time. Everyone laughed at first but then more or less ignored me. In a mood of defiant stuffed oliveness I did have a dance by myself but things kept crashing to the floor around me. The host asked if I would sit down. I had a go at that but it was useless. In the end I was at the gate for about an hour before Dad arrived.
Tom is back on a flight at 6:15 P.M. That is 6:15. Do you get it? Not 6:00 P.M. but 6:15 P.M. And do you know how many minutes that is? I do. I have also become a Time Lord.
There he is, tall, tanned, Italian, sophisticated. So what do you do?" I said, "Er, leap on him and snog him within an inch of his life? Taking care not to strangle myself on his false beard, or disturb his banana.
You're fourteen years old. You've only had that hair for fourteen years and you want to change it already! How bored are you going to be with it by the time you are thirty? What color will you be up to by then?
What in the name of Hitler's panties and matching bra set was she talking about?
Rosie laughed in a not too reassuring way if you like sane laughter.
P.P.S. I am giving you telepathic hugs. P.P.P.S. But not in a telepathically lezzie way.
Unbelievable! I said, "What would I be doing walking the streets at night as a stuffed olive- gate-crashing cocktail parties?
Watching TV mum said," Do you miss your dad?" And I said," Who?
At that point Ms Fox came in and said, "Hello, carry on as if I am not here." Then she lay down on the floor.
Dance of the Sugar Plum Bikey. Yes, that's got a nice ring to it.
I am looking at you and you are looking at me. This is very good. I am looking and I am liking. You are looking and you are thinking, 'I hope she doesn't hit me with her crop.' But that is because I am me and you are you.
As we drew near to the gates of Dother Hall the old bell in the belfry rang out. I said, 'I must go in, it's nigh on ten of the clock.' He half-turned away from me, his jacket collar hiding his expression. Was he angry? Disappointed?" Jo looked intently and I said, "Hungry?" Jo ignored me, but as she passed by acting out walking away from Phil, she allowed her hand to slap against my head.
The fly in her argument is that when she says, 'they' will feel like lemons, we don't know who 'they' are. And 'they' might BE lemons.
And a secret inward voice in my head was saying (in a strange breathy voice...) Yes, yessss, I will pop round to The Blind Pig. I will 'pop' round because guess who lives at the Blind Pig? It is not a blind pig, it is Alex.
This soft grass suggests 'softness' to me, but also at the same time 'lying-down-ness'.
Cor, love a duck. And also Lawks-a-mercy. I said that inwardly, but outwardly I said, "Blimey, and also, what larks.
I gave my artistic laugh and also threw in some quirky language for good measure. "Lawks-a-mercy, no! I'm going to have a long bath and..." I looked shyly down. Which is pretty impressive to have done artistic laugh, quirky language and shyness all in the space of ten seconds.
Here is my recipe for a mood enhancer. Take a friend, preferably one with a really annoying fringe and outsize pants, and when she is rambling on swiftly, push her into a ditch and run away.
This is the first day of the rest of my life. So why is my hair sticking up like a cockerel?
I don't know what's going on with Mum and Dad, but it's weird. Mum keeps asking Dad to do things and he keeps doing them Unfotunately, she hasn't said 'Hand over your money and make your way to Europe!
He who laughs last laughs the laughiest.
Look, I can't go out with you, because... because... because I'm a lesbian.
As I have often said, she has two styles of acting: with or without the beard.
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