I rode a motorbike into a convent the other day. Flustered some nuns.
“Young lady!” the elderly sister with the cataracts said, “This is a House of God!”
“Well now,” I replied, jumping off the bike as it screeched to a halt, “it’s the House of RAD!”
and I moonwalked into the vestry and flipped everyone the bird.
It’s hard to be relevant when you’re this old, so bitches best stop hatin’. Instead, check out this boner inducing apron I bought myself. Oxfam, £2.99 and all the whelks they could eat (none)
And this! Skirt! In electro tartan! It was one fair poundlington and is made of all the wool. Someone recently described it as looking a bit Vivienne Westwood and I tried to nod coolly while inside me there was a spontaneous inferno of joy and jizz.
Ladylike dress in black cotton with a nine foot wraparound belt which makes me look dignified and elegant and shiz. Also like a ladyninja with razor blades in her brassiere. Oxfamijamidingdong £7.99 (I know, but what the heck, right?)
THIS JUMPER COST TWENTY FIVE PENCE NEWSFLASH
I know I’ve mentioned it before but it bears repeating – I’ve got a bike you can ride it if you like, but only if you’re under five foot four and built like a slender Twiglet. I got this bad boy on Freecycle. It has an original bell and brakes and is ab-crunchingly joyful to ride, especially when someone is telling you to get the fuck out of their way or beeping at you with their beeper from their automobile because they are riding in their steel and metal deathcages and you are IN THEIR FUCKING WAY, MAN. Still, Freecycle, for free, from a lovely lady.