I have great friends. No really. Seriously shit hot, right there where you need ’em, without even knowing it friends. I am one lucky camper. In the friends department.
One, who is blonde and from Essex in England (google Essex Girls, nudge nudge wink wink), is about as mental as me. But with stranger family members. We worked together years ago, and liked to play practical jokes on one another. You know, the old drawing pin on your office chair type stuff. She and I would talk in strange accents for hours. And would often sing random songs. Loudly. With actions. Like Copacabana. And Lydia the Tattoed Lady. Critical hits, you’ll agree. In fact, she once phoned my office voicemail at 2 o’clock in the morning and played the entire of Lydia, off LP (yes, vinyl) down the phone.
The point of the ramble? Yesterday, for absolutely no reason at all, she emailed me this….
And in the midst of my miserble day, I was smiling.