One, two, three, four, tryna think of titles is a bore

The trouble with spending all day reading and packing is that you don't get to do as much procrastinating and watching bad television on BBC iPlayer.

Somehow, late at night I transform (think werewolves) into this terrible beast who eats everything in the cupboards, glides around the house with gun-fingers (in case of spider attacks) and starts watching programmes about weddings (a subject I've had no interest in for the majority of my life). Thankfully everyone's in bed, so there are no witnesses. Except the people who read this blog who for some inexplicable reason I have decided to trust entirely.

Oh and I wrote a Taylor Swift parody. SOMEONE SEND ME TO BED.

(I resisted the wedding programme. This time.)