What The Hell

Shit, I've regressed - I am twelve again. I went out to buy glamorous clothes to dance in and came home with a pair of slouchy jeans, a rainbow striped t-shirt, and a pink sequinned belt. If there'd been a pair of red Kicker boots I'd have got those too. This is wrong, wrong, all wrong.

I had a 'What The Hell' moment and booked evening tickets for the Ceroc Championships, home of black lycra, sequins, muscled gentlemen and small blonde ladies who can put their feet into third position. I am none of the above. I don't even know what third position is.

I am trying to give up 'What The Hell' moments as they generally end in trouble, strife, panic shopping and staying in with one's head under the covers gently moaning 'Oh noooo why ever did I do that?', but this one managed to sneak under the wire before I had the chance to identify it for what it was and beat it to a bloodied pulp.

Tears before bedtime, mark my words.