Five months clear of The Big D. More or less. I mean I still cry at discarded Christmas trees, but who the fuck doesn’t? Am I right?

I didn’t wear the bright dress. I looked like a fucking trifle. And being a sale item, it’s exchange or credit note. Cunts. But hey. That’s the bad news. The good news is that the Buzzty was cool. There were some people there who weren’t just nice, they were interesting and funny and everything.  One of them, an absolutely lovely chap, confided he had been wrestling with The Big C. So, alphabetically speaking, I had alighted upon  the perfect companion. Peachy.