Really. If the Wicked Witch of the West lived in my psyche she could not have made up my journey home this evening.
There I am, bowling through the main entrance of Bolton train station, without a care on the world, when it happens...
It has to be said I am all "gleeful girl in the city" when I bowl about.
Skipping to the train like and cheery young(ish) urbanite? Oh, f**kin no!
Some viscious/evil/monsterous/hell spawn commuter decides to wallop my left hand with their briefcase/handbag/air rifle and the upshot is my left hand is bruised to hell/buggery/sodom and gommorah.
Being a south paw, even given that Thursdays aint for a-fightin', I've been out to vote in local elections, made seafood risotto and drunk enough G&T to numb the Navy. So... hurrah for the party of my choice - pull your socks up you numpties - hussah for G&T and
hello Captain!
