In the midst of unpacking it is continuously an ingenious scheme to arrange one’s wardrobe, extract amusement from a stretched out slinky that has yet to intertwine itself into a cluster of carpet and metal, and to snap shoot all of this on a beautiful camera I have yet to understand significantly enough to produce anything worth anyone’s while. Tally ho, here they are.
I have commandeered Nanny’s suitcase since my own pleasant pink contraption with the wheels came to the conclusion it loathed the weekly return to Kent and committed suicide in Waterloo East. I thought I’d look like a cool kid with this design. Alas, without wheels my feeble physique is unable to look anything but hazardous whilst strolling through the train stations of Hampshire, London and Kent.
This bedroom held within its walls not one, not two, but FIVE plates of toast. God only knows how long they had resided there (or why I had to overcome a powerful urge to consume them.)
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