Thomas. Called it before it started.
He has got right on my tits.
So one saggy baggy pair of said appendages are for sale.
More performative than Judi Dench in the Globe.
With his hands flapping about, I just want to burst into ‘head shoulders knees and toes…’
MrsP. Adrian reminds me so much on someone and I can’t get it.
I keep coming back to a blond Pete Wicks. It is driving me nuts. He is someone’s doppel and I can’t pin him.
Loving Jordan and Chanita.
I’m scared to hope. Turkey twizzlers and chips? Novel.
April feels a bit disingenuous.
Kiss or no. Another performative.
All abound ‘the brand’.
He is intense. And if my tits weren’t on the market, he’d be swinging off them with Thomas.
He seems cross that she isn’t fawning over him. That kind of petulance is just as attractive as a raging bushful of crabs.
I’ve got a touch of the Eddie Eagles about him but a creepy version thereof. And the tears over someone he’s known a whole three fucking minutes?
That left me numb and cold you big Fanny.
I want to like Whitney.
I’m trying really hard. But I caaaaaantuh. Cos she’s draaaaaaaawlinguh. And she is a hoor o a nippy sweetieuh.
Duka isn’t sitting right with me.
I’m not sure why. I’d love him to use his words.
Fuck off Whit would be a good start.