The more I look at that, the more creeped out I feel.

I spent the weekend as guardian of two children, who, let's face it, were no work at all. I still don't want babies, though. Sunday afternoon was the best: I became a child again for approximately two hours as we played with the rather fantastic play-dough. I made a lizard, a plate of spaghetti, a snail and, my finest creation, a pebble. I am feeling inspired to become a sculptor.

I finished a three thousand word essay on whether or not The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot is a proto-Christian work at 3am last night. I barely understand a shred of what I have written so I expect an A+.

Last night K and I decided to have an impromptu date and just hopped in the old automobile and went our merry way. Hurrah! The freedom is asphyxiating. The car has become a delightful addition to my little family. VROOM VROOM. We had a moment of terror on Sunday after church where the indicators were flashing, despite the fact that they were off, and the bastard just wouldn't start. I rang my father, the knower of many things, who (despite the fact that he has never owned a car with an alarm) advised me that it had simply been immobilised by the alarm. WHATTA MAN WHATTA MAN WHATTA MAN WHAT A MIGHTY GOOD MAN. He was right and we zoomed away, waving our scarves out the window and singing songs from 1960's British musicals.

Remember Salt-N-Pepa? Those bold girleens. I loved those laydeez. That was back in the day when I thought nothing could be cooler than being a rapping black chick who said rude words on telly.

In terms of what I think is cool, not a lot has changed.