Julie and the Vietnamese Hairdressers were sent by our transatlantic friend Dan to sort out the mudhoneyz last night. Julie took pity on us poor Brits, having realised from my description of mine and DM’s barnets that we are obviously as challenged in the follicle department as we are with our teeth. Soon, I daresay, all us Brits will be walking around like we’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards and with gummy smiles to boot.

Julie and her pals got a tip-off from Dan and decided to scoot over here on a wing and a prayer (oh strike me down for I blaspheme and disbelieve) to rescue us from certain Bad-hair-dom. So, here are the dirty girls, freshly cropped by Julie and co and ready to party this Friday night. Dontcha think they look great? Dontcha wish your girlfriend was HOT like me????? Oh – sorry – the dirty girl isn’t me is she? She’s my over-eyelinered alter-ego but not really me…..shucks. I wish I was that dirty girl….

Partying on a Friday night is, of course, an essential part of growing up……and to be applauded as a rite of passage for our young folks. I am growing bored and more than a little impatient of what I see is a growing band of puritans who’d have our young in chastity belts and 9pm curfews. So – to all you young folks out there – stop looking at pbase, go out, have a few beers and GET LAID…..you know you want to. It’s Friday night for goodness sake – GET a LIFE.

I digress – my leeks are taking their final stroll into stardom because tomorrow, yes, tomorrow, these dirty girls will become soup. Yep. Soup. That’s right. Soup. I am a cruel and flinty person with no heart. I make soup from my dirty girls and laugh as they go into the pan.

Hhhhaaaa hhhhaaaa haaaaaa haaaaa……………………….manic laughter to fade…..

Last year I was angry.....you won't like me when I'm angry.....