Day two smells of poo

I am writing this from the comfort of my warm bum-cheeked spot on the sofa after watching Spellbound and eating delicious minstrels. Tonight we had Jessie-Moo round for dins and I made smoked haddock fishcakes with quails eggs and green apple sorbet with strawberries and greek yog. I may have gone lsightly mental making sorbet and hand-churning it every 5 minutes, but really, it is the highlight of my day.

Work was another roller-coaster ride through the lives of Jordan, Kerry and the fat melty-faced Baldwin that is in Celebrity Big Brother. Whilst trying to navigate the mirky quagmire of 'celeb' dirty dealings I also had the gasman round for half the day installing the hob and making gas happen in our flat. It did happen, just, but is still dangerously connected and we'll have him back at 8am tomorrow. I think it might have been illegal for me to cook my quails eggs using the stove but I really fucking wanted them and I don't care. They were tasy n all, but I don't half feel like a poncey git. Oh well.

Things I have learned today:

Gas comes out of a big pipe which does not connect to our stove, but instead terminates in the cupboard where we keep our glasses. Of course.

Argos will deliver my bed next Monday. All of their cheapo beds are named things like the 'Oslo', the 'Stalin' the 'Big Squidge' and the 'Jeff'. I have just purchased the 'Bavaria'.

Sorbet takes 6-8 hours of constant churning.

Jordan has definitely not had botox.

The man who mistakes the HSBC cashpoint on Seven Sisters Road as a urinal has struck again.

Goodnight one and all,

Chloe