Eyeliner and Cigarettes

I don't smoke so the title of this blog is purely to make me sound like one of those 'cool', punchy, arty people. Life. Amazing.


Anyway....
I'm instead using this fine blank space to ramble about an evil I can be associated with, alcohol.
Eurgh. Why do we do it? Why do you go out looking like a princess (here's looking at you, men) and return looking like Nora Batty had she been encountered by some rather zealous happy slappers?!
What mental disorder is it that makes us have those few extra drinks after you've encountered the happily relaxed stage which, as a consequence, drives us to jump in trolleys, sing as loud as we can and tell everyone we meet we're madly in love with them (if I've met you in this state, I swear that when I told you I loved you, it was for real).

Coming from the land of loud-mouthed larger louts Essex (to be exact Saafend-on-Sea), I've got a constant display of teenage mothers with voices that don't far off resemble foghorns on a 'Manday Mayhem innit' or 'Fursday talk'.

Eurgh.