Sometimes you would not BELIEVE the smoothness.

And on Tuesday London was warm and sunny.
But Léonie's brain was devoid of The Funny.

Well, yes, but not in a bad way. I'm feeling a hundred million Mcsquillion times better than I was. I am feeling very, like, determined at the moment. Very empowered and strong-man-like. A bit like maybe if someone asked me to march somewhere in a proud and confident manner I could, and with swing-y arms.

This time last week I couldn't have done. Nor could I have done in the weeks before that - stretching back quite a long time. Funny how things change (tilts head in a ponder-y manner and gazes into the distance with eyes narrowed in a pontificating manner).

I could write a post that's full of meaningless clichés ('it's like somebody's flicked a switch/opened the curtains/removed the elephant from a-top the trap door') but I won't.
Instead I shall just write anything that comes into my head and see what happens.

My knees are hot.

Hang on, I think that might be it.

Oh, no, wait.

The Crush is going exceptionally well. He is now my boyfriend. Yes. I have removed my personal ad from every newspaper in London. Except Gay Times, because that's still not catered for. But despite that, he is lovely.

We worked out the other day what the first thing he ever said to me was. It was the following momentous and earth-shattering sentence:
"Would you like a glass of water?"

Could've been worse. Could've been "My GOD you're ugly. I think my retinas just died" or maybe "I've never met you before, but somehow I instantly hate you loads. Urgh".
I first met him at a party two years ago. I knew who he was, he didn't know who I was because I am NOBODY until I give you a blow job and then you never forget me. Kidding. Hello, Googlers.

No, we hadn't met, but we had made eye contact across the crowded kitchen. A while later he was plucking up the courage to come over and talk to me, and managed it. He walked out of the kitchen as I was making my way out down the stairs. He was gearing himself up to say something impressively witty and staggeringly cool. At which point I? Fell down the stairs.

Of COURSE I did. Slipped over, and then bump-bump-bump down to the bottom.

I wasn't even THAT drunk.

Well.

Ahem.

Anyway.

I have a bad back anyway from an incident involving a 50 ft waterfall, Australia, and the fact that I'm a MASSIVE imbecile, so when I had bumped my way to the foot of the stairs I was pale and shaking with pain and nausea. And let us not disregard that old chesnut, crippling humiliation. I think I just sat there, dressed as a witch* trying ferociously to blink back tears and pretend it hadn't happened.
*It was Halloween. I think. I really hope.

The Crush or, at the time The Guy I Thought Was Really Sexy But Didn't Know Yet, came over to me and uttered those magical words. "Would you like a glass of water?".

At which point I vomited in his face.

Not really. But it wouldn't have SURPRISED you, would it? No. Ah you know me so well.

Anyway. Nearly two years later and here we are, Crushing it up. Cool.

Well. I didn't have anything to post about today, and yet it turned out, there WAS something, some nugget of storytelling huddled up in one of the darker, damper recesses of my mind.

I will round off this marvellously disjointed post by telling you that I have an earache and a sore throat.

Ay, me.