whatho | It's like a sort of kink thing.

You really get a sense of how unwholesome double cream is when you try to consume it through a straw.

Hello. Mythbusters is vexing me. They're trying out seasickness cures by putting Adam and Grant in an awful spinny chair covered in tennis balls, which is obviously slightly ghastly because more often than not it ends with their vomiting copiously into an oil drum, but it's also slightly great because then they have to sleep it off by curling up on the warehouse floor. Mostly that aspect of the thing has totally won me over and I've been intermittently watching it through a gap in the door. For the record, ginger pills for the win.

What news. No news. I'm confused by the heat. I'm halfway through another play. My ears will never cease to itch and my hands are mostly made of paper cuts because it transpires that I'm not so great at opening envelopes. I had a banana milkshake for my tea. And pasta. And broccoli. I'm wondering if I'll ever get my brother to watch the final episode of Nightingales and jealous of the fact that he has it still to watch. I still want to go to the cinema. I still love Tony Slattery.

That's all, I think.

Hello.