The CRUEL IN COOL

I just ate some leftover salted caramel pavlova, straight out of the fridge. The whipped cream was slightly curdled and it was kind of revolting, but delicious. Then, for my hangover, I took two Panadol Extra with added caffeine washed down by a Red Bull as I did a pole dancer hip swivel to Led Zeppelin, which was playing on Spotify (“Hey, hey mama, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove”). And now, here I am writing this on my laptop, lying on a fake fur rug on my sofa, with Pickles crossword – hoping to get to genius level, which always gives me a cheap thrill – and writing at the same time. I mention these banal details just in case any proof was needed that I am not cool.