Okay, so considering the somewhat disconcerting, even if not surprising result of the election, I shall do what romantic poets did 200 years ago; stick my fingers into my ears and pretend I am elsewhere. This, however, doesn’t land me in a beautiful forest or somewhere else dreamlike, but with Orlando in front of a toilet. That is probably also disconcerting, though not surprising.
Anyway. Orlando and I had a chat about me needing something nice tonight vs he not being my fucking personal entertainment muppet (even though, technically, he IS. But don’t tell him I said that), which is why I mixed tranquilizers into his beer. Hey, it’s a trick I learned on Emmerdale, okay?( September, 24th - Autopilot )