You know the thing, right, when you go on holiday, and leave all your worries and stresses in a big heap just inside your house door, and have a simply smashing time paying other people to do all your washing up for you while you prance about stately homes and have picnics in the sun? And then you go home? And all your worries and stresses are now hungry, and promptly rugby-tackle you to the floor and sink their creepy little fangs into you? Yeah, that.
Hello, internets. I’d talk to you, but work has Gone Mental and I’ve got a funeral to go to on Friday. Eheu.
