My Dearest Darling Twitter,
It is with heavy heart and deep regret that I have to inform you… I am (temporarily) leaving you.
We seem to have been spending an inordinate amount of time together recently; so much so that everything else has gone by the wayside.
My chickens are having to collect their own eggs. (Yes, Twitter, you didn’t know that I kept hens, did you? No, well, they’re ex-batts and they’re great and I’ll tell you about them some time.)
The cat thinks I’ve died; it’s been so long since she’s been fed.
And my house is so disgustingly messy that it required a good ten minutes, the other morning, persuading the postman that I hadn’t been burgled (and I’m not sure he quite believed me even then).
But, dear Twitter, my dad coming round…
seeing my wet-suit hanging up in the utility room…
and saying “why is it so distorted?” is the main reason that I am (temporarily) leaving you.
Yes, because I have exactly two weeks to reduce the size of my backside before I go body-boarding in Cornwall. Please wish me luck. I think I’m going to need it.