Hey ho,
Pitkin here, fresh and upright.
That’s right, upright.
Following my well-publicised (thanks to that lovely BAFBA article in OK! Magazine) back problems, I’ve invested in a new desk. It elevates and then de-elevates at will. More specifically, you push a red button and BINGO, it moves like a dream. Up and down, up and down. Not that I would, but you could just watch it rise and fall, rise and fall, hour after hour. Utter magic, and it purrs like a ruddy thoroughbred. This means I can stand and type and drink and smoke and stand and smile and stretch and type. I’m very pleased with my purchase. Really chuffed. I have some desk balls that I can watch clink back and forth with an astronomically metronomic beauty. You know the ones. Can’t get them anymore. These are vintage balls. Shiny silver desk balls.
All good here at ‘Hombres Heights, despite the filthy weather. It’s windy and rainy and shitty out there but I’m snug and fine, thank you. These Yuletide slip slops (see below) keep my toesies nice and toastie.
That’s all for now - this soup won’t slurp itself.
Bye,
Pitkin
