Hark, the herald angels sing, for lo yesterday I finally sent off my bloody passport application. Now I merely have to wait for the armed defenders to show up at my door, here to take me away for the horrible, horrible things that I wrote down in my application in the name of Truth. Also my photo is a bit sinister.
Yesterday also marked the day a washing machine arrived in the Cold House. It is a high tech device, that plays little bingly tunes when you open the lid, press buttons or walk past and get your retinas scanned at 30 second intervals. Right now it is washing my clothes, scanning the internet for tonight's entertainment and committing my DNA to memory for possible cloning into a vast army of, let's face it, relatively useless front line soldiers.
Finally, for the hat trick of interesting things that happened yesterday, Annah and Annika got to talking over gmail chat. The horror! They seem intent on making me nervous by acting all mysterious and smirky whenever I send conversational probes in their direction, which leads me to believe that I am basically doomed. This is what happens when you amicably breakup and remain close with ex partners, people. Take heed and arrange for them to be shipped out to Siberia as soon as you possibly can. It's for the greater good.
