Today has been the MOST boring day I've had in the office for a while. This is perhaps because I've had to work straight through for much of the day (in between tweets OBVIOUSLY) but also because I'm helping to write blady reports about blady travel exhibitions and conferences that my boss attended. They've got nothing to do with me, but he is aggravatingly unskilled in the proper use of the English Language, so I basically have to rephrase everything he says and, "well, you may as well type it while you're at it." Excellent.
But Elle, you might say, for why are you writing in such a negative manner at 17:27pm? Surely you can now depart for home in anticipation of a sofa, a cup 'a chai and some probably awful but nonetheless mind-numbing (this can be a positive sometimes, so I'm using it as such here) telly.
NO! I must reply. YOU ARE WRONG! GO AND SIT IN THE NAUGHTY CORNER, A'TOP THE NAUGHTY STOOL. (Yes. Stool. That's right, there's a poo in the corner. And you gotta sit on it.) For, good people, I went and booked a Bollywood Aerobics class for tonight. Chuckle if you will at the idea of me bobbing up and down to some Bangra, but don't come running to me when you die of heart disease and obesity before you hit retirement. WORD. I shall be tripping at the sight of my fast moving knitting needles while the worms 'neath us devour you and spiders hide 'twixt your ribcage.
Last night I went x-biking, and I considered POKING MY EYES OUT in a sadistic way to ease the pain of bike riding at high resistances, much like Van Gogh (who often rode a bike in this way). But I felt for my fellow x-bikers; I might have put them off their exercise. So instead I swore under my breath, while figuring out if I could attend Friday's class. I think this is what S&M must feel like. Painful, but slightly addictive.
God I'm grumpy.