I bought four bags of fudge at my favourite sweet shop in Keswick. They’ve done fudge there the same way forever. Or since I was a kid. Same difference. My sister likes it. My friends in London like it. So on the way home from visiting the folks I bought four bags. I’ve now eaten three. I actually ate the third late last night in bed whilst I was watching Episodes. Luckily for me, due to a horror story my mam tells about most of her teeth being whipped (sp?) out when she was eighteen, it is an impossibility for me to go to bed without cleaning the pegs… even if I’m drowning in my cups. boyfriends will attest to this. I guess it can get quite irritating…. yeah well fuck ’em. Not as irritating as they were. I mean who can piss for a whole twenty seconds first thing? It was like listening to a fucking horse. Digresssion. So I didn’t go to sleep with fudge resin on my molars. But I did wake up with fudge crumbs in the bed.
Bed and fudge. Fudge and bed. All week. And this awful oppressive weather. Something’s gotta give.
Had an audition today to play someone’s mother. Uh – oh. More fudge and more bed if I hadn’t seen how this shit was gonna pan out. Which I did. So I went to see my mate and his baby instead. Ate two Greg’s pasties. The veggie ones though coz I’ve heard how they make the meat ones…
So then I’m at a crossroads. Come home, more fudge and bed and be in a diabetic coma by friday? .. Or… bottle of wine and fags. Yes!!!! I was clever! I went for the wine and fags. And alter… much later when I have finished gorging myself on Netflix… I will try to resist the fudge.