Monday, August 22, 2005



There would be a review here were it not for one thing: my hiccoughs.

Yes, hiccoughs. And I know that doesn't sound like some great trauma but the cumulative effect of having had hiccoughs for the best part of today is driving me insane.

I hiccoughed my way through typing, through photocopying, through lunch and through dinner. I even found myself hiccoughing whilst on the phone to the West Yorkshire Playhouse*. As son as I think that I've got the all clear and I've finally stopped, they break out again. Hic.

And boy do they seem loud, I can't even begin to disguise them. I am the incredible hiccoughing girl. If I were a superhero I clearly wouldn't get any of the cool powers like flying or being ivisible or stretching my limbs to incredible lengths. No, I'd put down all opposition with the power of my hiccough. HIC!

Scared? No, I didn't think you would be. Me? I'm terrified.

*Advice from the great Paddy Marber: see lots of plays. This is, obviously, expensive and I already have the somewhat expensive hobby of stalking minor popstars, not to mention my prediliction for shoes. Hence I'm considering taking up that stalwart of my middle Uni year again - front of housing.

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