forewarned is forearmed.

Every night in my house is like an explosion. We all come home at different times, and once more than one us is in it is non stop talking, singing, accents, dancing, TV, gossip, laughing, phonecalls, comings and going and banter.

Hence, I really really love living with my friends. Apart from last night, when my brain had been replaced with a piece of that soft green Oasis flower-block-stuff you used to get in art class which is good for ornamental flowers but terrible for thinking with.

Zoe and Donna spent forty minutes talkingtalkingtalking excitedly about absolute shit in the worst, most nasal chav estate accents they could muster. I had been using exactly the same accent not two minutes earlier and all day the previous day but something had snapped and I didn't ever want to hear it again and, more importantly, wanted the knowledge of it stricken from my brain. Then Zoe spent twenty minutes telling me how and why she planned to replace the boxes under her bed with plastic containers in infinite detail, and then Donna explained how many Saturdays she has to work out of the next five - no - six! This was over the top of the TV thing we were watching and the cumulative effect was that I thought I was going to flip out and go on a murderous killing spree up and down the street, River Tam-style, to end only when faced with police in riot gear armed with nuclear warheads, or when I dropped dead through sheer exhaustion.

Then I realised that it was just PMT and so kept my mouth shut. I'm ok today.