Minty Bit Stronger

It must be London fashion week, that's all I can think. Or maybe Vivienne Westwood is now a transmutable plague spreading through the London population faster than a Katie Price rebound. Packed onto my first train this morning I have a Tartan beard so fashion forward he makes Alexander McQueen's Armadillo look positively pre-historic. Decked out in scottish magic eye from head to toe he manages to look both 'sudoku-esque' and 'militantly patriotic'. I mentally vomit on him. My journey can cause no further retinal pain, surely. Spoke to soon, my lumbering carriage pulls into New Cross where I am shocked to spot another die hard trendy. The baggy 'knob-head' jumper combined with ubër skinny jeans makes me wretch, but not nearly as much as the Elvis-on-acid greasy do. This pretentious streak of dribble piss has some liquorice coloured Mr whippy spilling down his forehead. As far as chip-fat-chic goes it is fairly impressive but something about it...

I feel so dirty, I just ate plain unseasoned chicken straight out of a packet. My only saving grace was that I bought it from M&S. That, and I'm doing it for the diet, the demanding, all consuming diet (honest). Today was the first day the hunger really took hold. Everywhere I looked I saw people eating pizzas or microwave meals or Starburst. Every where I heard them talking about food, 'what did you eat last night?', 'what are you eating tonight?' Who gives a toss! Nowhere was safe not even the toilet where I heard mention of a eclair sized poo. Why eclair? Surely there are better things you could use to describe the little gift the previous user of the cubicle had left in situ. I despair! Then the Train home, how bad can that be, eh? I open my book and read a whole chapter on the preparation of a feast... I was nearly eating the pages, the woman opposite readin 'Eat, pray, love' nearly got a slap and the kid eating a doughnut nearly got thrown fro...