My day at work was fine and uneventful. However, Valentine's day was still really sad because Bill had to work until almost midnight so that Paul McCartney and his gimp wife could ride the London Eye. And a bunch of other happy couples. We did have a nice lunch together and Bill bought me flowers. So he is good, though the London Eye hates me.
Apparently, the London Eye is not the only thing that hates me, as my train broke down 2 minutes from home. So I sat in a tunnel for an hour and a half next to a rather large lady. It was not as unpleasant as one might imagine, and the British people on my train were really calm about the whole thing. As was I, I might add. Still, not the greatest way to spend your time. That will teach me to burn Ken Livingstone. I have drawn a picture of my suffering. I think my hair looks really good here. Though it didn't look like that at all yesterday. Being an artist is great fun.
And then, finally, at almost 8 o'clock, I returned home. To be by myself and sad. But alas, my flatmate had bought porn. So, I read that. British porn, mind, so not tremendously exciting. Here is me reading it.
And then, when it wasn't the commercials, I watched ER and cried because some lousy alkie died. Here is me crying on Valentine's Day.
Finally, I got ready for bed. And when reaching for my toothbrush, I cut my finger on my Venus razor. All three blades.
So that was too bad.
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