However that is enough whining. I don’t yet have to panhandle for food or sleep in a doorway and I am very grateful for that.... just annoyed by the slight feeling of melancholic claustrophobia that the change in season brings.
That and tights. Freakin’ sodding tights. I hate the things. When I was a kid at boarding school the small girls were not allowed to wear tights until they were seniors. At the time I thought this unfair. There we were, the little ones, with our red wind chapped thighs and frosted knees whilst the older girls had thick brown nylon to protect them from the chill. There was a kind of mystical sophistication that we all thought would come as soon as we donned our first pair of Pretty Polly tan tights. But it was all a terrible con
|Spiderman having a backwards gusset moment|
|wot's a 'tights'?|