Disha wanted to know if I managed to stretch my new boots. I groaned out loud! Disha’d said I should wet them before I stuffed them full of newspaper so they’d be more flexible when I stretched them, so on Wednesday I filled the famous mop bucket with water and left them in it in the garden shed. I TOTALLY forgot about them! Disha said when she told me to soak them she meant for an hour or so, not nearly a WEEK. What a DISASTER!!! I must’ve been cursed at birth or something. They look all funny, and the heel came off the right boot. Disha said I could take it to a cobbler, but I was too depressed to ask her what a cobbler is.
I hate my brother more than anyone has ever hated ANYONE or ANYTHING in the history of the world. As if it wasn’t enough that my new boots are TOTALLY RUINED, I was just trying out some new make-up (Sorceress Black) when the door to my room was flung open and there was Justin and his bloody camera (we at 73A Wooster Crescent live in a virtually lockless world). He got me putting on eyeliner. I really think it’s time they had him put down. You can’t bite into a crisp in this house without being photographed. It’s like living with the paparazzi (but without the champagne and stuff). Poor Princess Di! I really feel for what she went through. Death must’ve been a kind of release. (When I told that to Disha, she said maybe it’s not just the Creative who suffer – the famous do too. I never thought of it like that. I mean, you can be MEGA FAMOUS and have the Soul of a cowpat, can’t you? But D says one has to make a distinction between physical suffering and spiritual suffering. Spiritual suffering is what the creative do. I don’t think it’s premature to say that the Dark Phase is v successful so far!)