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January

Flapocalypse

Flappy Bird must die.

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If Thomas Crapper Made Days, This One Would Be it.

A mixed day today.

No, I do not wish to discuss the marks for my Broadcast Law essay, but will merely say that there’s no point getting angry, or annoyed, or upset about it, because I can’t change it. I shall focus on the remaining modules I’ve got, and just move forwards.

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Hot Hot Heat.

It’s a sad, sad day when you end up having a chat with a taxi driver about being concerned at reaching a particular age without really having done much.

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Self Conversation Society.

When I’m in the house on my own, I talk to myself.

A lot.

Categories
January

Melted.

After what feels like an absolute age, I finally got round to seeing Frozen tonight.

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Weekly Wipe.

I like Sundays.

Categories
January

Ribbed for Displeasure.

There’s a point in every girl’s life where she grows to love her friends.

There’s also a point in every girl’s life where she grows tired of her friends, because they’re the type to furnish her with a ridiculous nickname.

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This Friday Feeling

This week’s Friday feeling is brought to you by:

Despondency.
Tiredness.
Stress.
Depression.
Coldness.

Thank the maker it’s the weekend, that’s all I’m saying.

Categories
January

The One.

I’ve found a sure fire way of working out if a chap is worth your time or not.

You tell him the you’re doing a radio show. He listens to said radio show and still wants to talk to you, despite an extended link about zoophilia.

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That Yorkshire Man.

A night of recording parodies, an afternoon of opening bottles of cheap beer and a morning lie in have reminded me why I do definitely enjoy enjoy university.