Home-made hummus and so much garlic bread

Brie as big as my head

I say I look like a middle-aged male American tourist. My father says I look Pre-Raphaelite, but the morning after. Rough round the edges.

I walk downstairs and there's a man I've never met in the kitchen. My mother says 'This is Anna. She doesn't always look like a bag lady. She's locked in her room writing her dissertation'. The thing is, I do always look like this.

I drink Stella and sit in gazebos that we gradually turn into a Bohemian den. My brother wears a poncho following a diet of too many spaghetti westerns and an overdeveloped Clint-lust.

We use whole bulbs of garlic for a feast. Anti-Vampiric with health benefits.

I eat leftover trifle for lunch in front of my computer screen and say aarrrrggghhh. I say it, not quite screaming. Yet.

I actually buy blue suede shoes. For reals. They are little boots with embroidery on the outside and a check-print inside. Not really quiff and snake-hip shoes, but blue suede nonetheless. Don't you step on 'em.

I am told that relationship equilibrium is getting a cleaner. This is both decadent and dull. No equilibrium for me just yet, hence too much diet coke, procrastination, panic, sleeplessness, back-ache, red wine and watching Benedict Cumberbatch on Terence Rattigan when I should be doing pretty much anything else. But equilibrium is for squares, yes? I'm a bit too skewiff.