A friend writes “When did you give me your mobile number?”
“About two weeks ago,” I answer. “Why? Oh, wait - the bill’s turned up, hasn’t it? How many texts on it? No, don’t tell me. Oh go on, tell me…”
One hundred and Two. In a little less than a month.
Loved the way, on last night’s ‘prisoner’s dilemma’ section of Big Brother they kept repeating the rules, and saying “Do you understand” and I’m thinking (and eventually Kat says): “Yes, we all see Golden Balls. Move on!”
Msm at home, from here on in, for x-factor, bb and all televisual b1tching. I mean, there’s a limit to how many texts a boy can decently send to someone before it’s termed stalking.
But, that said, there are some communications that simply have to be made. texts like:
- kat to win.
- kat 4 evah!!
- kat to represent us in eurovision. in a silver spandex jumpsuit. Oh wait, that was verduchka, wasn’t it. Ein Dzwei Drei. TANCE!