Good morning to the few sane, normal readers of this blog – those waking up at 4.30 on a Saturday surrounded by a cloud of festering booze-breath and last night's vomit buckets, as humans were designed to do.
Perhaps by now you've made yourself a bacon sandwich and popped yourself in front of Comedy Central with a nice cup of tea and, curiously, this blog. Perhaps you've come on here to laud your glorious hangover and love-bites over us, knowing that we'll have been enduring our sixth working day of the week. What horrible readers you are. I hate you.
Ironically, and unlike you, I don't have time for this blog. Because, unlike you, I've had a morning of spelling and grammar tests and because, unlike you, I have so much homework I've had to send an 'out of office' text to all the contacts on my phone that reads: “I am away from my social group. If your enquiry is urgent or you need an emergency evening of watching Frozen and discussing how awful your ex-boyfriend is, please contact my younger bother.”
I'm not going to share any giffs with you. You don't deserve them.