Terrible about Haiti, wait, Desperate Housewives is on. Baby designer wear. DVD and a nice bottle of plonk. Nothing too spicy. Runners to work, shoes under the desk. Something purple, goes with the dress. Girls' night out. Ray D'Arcy. Baby's first mobile. The match in Kiely's. Overtime for something intangible. A week in Dubai. Burj Al Arab, viewed from afar. Catering for vegetarians. Tiramisu. Whispers in the canteen. Yer man is such a flirt, a wife and two kids. Got this in Dunnes, spill and you're dead. Thierry Henry must die (but I still would). Glee. Friday night in the Boulevard, Dakota to follow. Cocktails. Christmas party panties. Take A Pick. Rachel Allen recipes. David McSavage, bit much for me. Too cold for ice cream. Don't like olives. Chicken everything. Maybe white fish. Sometimes salmon. Silk Cut Blue. "That FUCKER."
Pilates. Gym. Chocolate.
Martin Kemp swears by Slimfast. It's Complicated. Must get the word delectable into one sentence this week. Uggs. Crossing off lists. Not my type. Must be tall. Handsome. Dark. But not too dark. No dark chocolate. Unless it's Lindt. Scared of black taxi drivers. Home by eleven. Corrie and yogurt. Corona. No lime. No I mustn't, ok go on then. Jamie Heaslip. Don't understand the rules.
Olly Murs' red tie.
Flecked scarf akimbo. Tissues on the ground. Dabbing at nothing. Singing alone. Won't dance will dance. Only at weddings. Scarlet.