We held an 'Oscars Party' in our glorified bedsit on Monday night. We had streamers, party poppers and gold stars strewn across the floor (a move I soon came to regret) and Josh adorned the wall with our very own Oscar. I drank my first glass of the horrendously sweet Passion Pop (a more glamourous Passionfruit version of Lambrini). And we all booed and hissed when Colin Firth didn't win. Unfortunately I woke up the next day with tonsillitis and a spider bite resembling a gunshot wound. I applied for roughly 40 jobs from my sickbed, but not a word back. I went to see the doctor this morning, he charged me $80 to tell me I had tonsillitis and a spider bite resembling a gunshot wound and send me off with some penicillin. Daylight robbery, I tell thee!
We are going to try and find a cheap frisbee and then run around Fitzroy Gardens for the remainder of our day (wounds permitting).
No comments:
Post a Comment