The thing I suck most at in life is being bad at things. While that might be an oxymoron, what it really means is that I am the worst most sore loser in the United Kingdom, probably; I tantrum when I can’t grasp how to do something and end up winding myself up even more. If you’ve read my post about my skiing incident, you’ll probably have gathered this by now; it’s not the most attractive trait in a person I’m sure. Late last year, when I moved into my beautiful house, I bought a shit load of Ikea furniture to swag out my room with and was fuming when it all arrived flatpacked – being less than gifted with common sense or with any practical skills, there was no chance I was getting any of it up myself. In fact, I tried to screw one of the screws into its corresponding little hole and failed, started crying, and ditched the whole job for my boyfriend to do.
One of the great disappointments of my life (woe is me) is that I’m truly shite at art. I could write you a great description of someone pretty easily and you’d probably get an alright idea in your mind of who I was on about (I would hope) but if I got out the paint brushes and attempted to draw them you’d end up with something like this that I just whacked out on Paint: Continue reading “becoming a work of art this valentine’s day”