1. One set of pink plastic cups purchased for less than a pound in Tesco near the Hemel Hampstead roundabout from hell. Previously used to drink alcohol in and provide my toothbrush with somewhere nice to sit. Obviously not at the same time.
2. One clothes airer. Suitable for putting sheets over and pretending that you're in a tent. Or a palace. Or indeed anywhere your imagination may take you.
3. A new bottom to replace the one that is currently very bruised, my having slipped on the path near my room again. *
4. A pair of nicely tanned legs that don't have bruises on from walking into my desk chair. Repeatedly.***
1. One Pinter essay, slightly tatty from having been under my bed for no clear reason.
2. More SSoB fliers than even I could ever need.****
3. A term's worth of Whitby Gazettes. Minus Griffin pages.
Today's subtext? I spent last night and this morning packing to come home. And now I'm home and I have to unpack. Which makes the idea of being a snail suddenly overwhelmingly appealing.
*I accept that someone may be telling me to get my cowboy boots reheeled.**
**My mother's reponse was more direct - 'throw them in the bin'.
***You'd think that I'd learn - it's not like the chair jumped out and attacked me. But no. I did say that I'm not good with the literal thinking thing.
****You'd think that you could never have too many SSoB fliers, but after finding the one millionth flier that had managed to creep into my wardrobe, I beg to differ.
NB: For some reason blogger wouldn't let me publish this last night. So you're getting it now. Lucky you.