Re-education Camps – Day 29 – Georgia Wellington

“This December a parent comes to the realisation that it is time to tell his 12 year old that Santa Claus may not be real.” – Georgia Wellington.

I embellished on this slightly… I’ve actually done what happened after this parent told their kid. 

I will be away at Woodford Folk Festival for the next week (till new years day). So! All my stories will be written there and ideas taken from people there. There is little internet and electricity there so I’ll be taking a photo of my handwritten stories each day and sending them to facebook/twitter on my phone.

Dear Lilly,

I’m sorry I told you Santa wasn’t real. I’m a terrible parent. You must have been shocked when you noticed and I was gone, but I’m told I should be able to come home soon. It’s so cold here. At least I’ve made friends with some a few other parents at the re-education camp.


If lost please return to sender:

Santa Claus 
1 Reindeer Lane 
North Pole 


A Gift – Day 28 – Michael Gillett

I Challenge you… to one of those Christmas letters people send to everyone they know to tell them all about their year – From Michael Gillette. Merry Christmas all!

Dear loved one,

This year has been filled with joy and discovery. I joined the Spirit Collective and had my eyes opened. So I would like to give you the greatest gift of all this Christmas: forgiveness. Last year’s Christmas Cuddles Gathering is all water under the bridge. I certainly don’t blame anyone for not getting into the spirit or going to mum’s without me. I know many of you told me not to join another group but the collective is truly wondrous. They’ve even taught me how to listen again.

Hoping your year will be as filled with joy as mine.


Diary of a Christmas Tree – Day 27 – Rachel Oost

Rachel- you asked for: 

“A Christmas tree who knows it’s his last day before being shoved in a box and left for a year.”

So here ya go!

When you’re stuck in a dark garage for 50 weeks a year you tend to question your existence more than most.

Years ago I was a display tree. I was set up for months in a large metropolitan department store. Families looked at me with wonder. I thought I was hot stuff and destined for great things.

With a few days before Christmas (my big day) I was sold to a dysfunctional middle class family at half price because of minor damages. In the car on the way home I spotted great leafy statues, I was just a mere imitation of these natural wonders. They were independent and grew where they wanted. I was contained in a plastic bag (the shop had lost my box) and made by a machine.

When I got home I was pampered for a few days. But soon enough I was shoved into the dark garage and ignored. I was very hurt and outraged. My existence seemed so pointless. I was just a collection of convenient green plastic bits to display each year in order to fit in with a tradition that is completely misinterpreted and now based on consumerism.

But this Christmas as I am being packed away, I’ve realised something. I still have my thoughts. This year I had developed entire philosophies in the dark, and even made friends with the broken toaster next to me. We’d argued about the intricacies of death and life for objects like us. Perhaps it wasn’t such a pointless existence after all.

Washing Directions – Day 26 – Cinnamon Eacott

Itchy Pants – from Cinnamon Eacott. 


I propose new underpants washing directions:

Do not iron dry. Elastic will melt into brittle itchy spikes of doom. You will try to surreptitiously scratch yourself just before you go on stage for your speech. And only then will you realise that everyone can see backstage. This may cause colour change (blushing), shrinkage (of brain power on stage) and damages (to job prospects).


Threshold – Day 25 – Christopher Murray

“With poems written down their bare backs in sharpies low on ink” from Christopher Murray.

They said he was mad. No-one went near the house. It was covered in writing; the walls, the path, the fence. Conservative villagers thought it was the devil speaking through him.

When I moved in, I wasn’t scared. He needed help, so I went to visit. I tried to read the path on the way in, but couldn’t make sense of it. Most of it was like another language.

Buzzing with anticipation, I knocked on the door. He’d probably be so happy to have a visitor.

As it turned out he was very happy to see me, and seemingly sane. We ate and chatted. The walls were covered in writing, the shelves full of journals and the tables cluttered with art. Not wanting to be rude I didn’t mention the writing.

I went back every day. He was lovely but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed help and sometimes I’d hear noises from upstairs.  Perhaps I could bring my psychologist friend over next time?

Eventually I worked up the courage to ask about the writing.

“My wife is agoraphobic,” he began. “She’d like to come down to see you but she’s too afraid.”

I looked upstairs and saw a face disappear.

“Because she can’t go outside, I started writing her a story. Dragons, tribes, distant lands, new languages…” he explained.

I thought back to the nonsensical words on the path.

“I started writing it on the walls for fun. She just finished reading the hallway before you came,” he added. “Then I had the idea to continue it outside. If she ever wants to finish the story, she’ll have to leave the house.”

I suddenly felt terrible for assuming he needed medication or assessments.

“Can I meet her?” I asked.

“I have an idea,” he said.

With dragon poetry written down my back in a sharpie low on ink, I stood at the front door. He had added me into the story. After some coaxing, his wife came down and continued reading. As she read my back she cleared the threshold. It was the first time she’d been outside in 8 years.

Like Normal – Day 24 – Georgia Wellington

ImageThis is my diary from around year 6-8. I was challenged the other day to find my entry from the first day of year 8 and write a story on that. So I thought I’d do a Haiku using only direct quotes & phrases. The following is my 13 year old thoughts on moving to high school.

Like waaay better

Boys and girls talk like it’s normal

We all just grow up


G-notes – Day 23 – Kaitlin Moncrieff

Kaitlin Moncrieff challenged me to find lyrics that my friend Georgia May wrote in my school organiser and write a story about that. But (surprisingly) there were none! So I found a note she wrote me in year 10 and developed something around that. 


This was the first note to appear in my school organiser. I thought it odd for two reasons: 1. I don’t have any friends and 2. I don’t know any Georgia’s, G-unit’s or Pige’s. The popular girls told me there was a Georgia who died at the school years ago.

As the nice little notes continued to materialise over the next few weeks I became convinced I was being haunted.

Today, I found out it was a weird boy named George from my class last year who was too shy to come and talk to me. I immediately found him at lunch and called him a dickhead. Now we’re going to the movies

I am Freya, Freya I am – Day 22 – Rohan

Last night at a birthday drinks I was told “tomorrow you have to write a Dr. Seuss style poem about yourself!” by someone I’d basically just met.  My enthusiasm for the project was starting to wane, but it’s always rekindled by people shouting, tweeting, facebooking and carrier pigeon-ing me funny challenges. Okay I haven’t had the last one yet but I’d love to!

Anyway Rohan (don’t know your last name) here is your poem. As you wish! (Yes Princess Bride reference)


Who is this girl you may ask?

The idiot who set this ridiculous task.

Born 1991. Nicknamed ‘freya-tuck’ the fat roly-pole

But grew into more of a spindly, clumsy new born foal

As she got older she fended and friended her way through life

Got through school, jobs and uni without too much strife


She’s written, re-written, been smitten, bitten, likes to listen, had a kitten,

never been christened and has a crazy family from Britain.


She seems to be physically dyslexic and was shy at school

It’s amazing she has so many friends and doesn’t look more of a fool

She’s scared of confrontation, gated communities, drowning and spiders

She loves television, the smell of rain, funny laughs and trying new ciders


She wants to be a writer but she thinks she’s pretty rough

Maybe not good enough

She’s hoping this challenge will help her write better stuff

Perhaps she’ll even make a name as Freya Wright-Brough

And hopefully no-one will call her bluff

Zany Santa – Day 20 – Lucy Sweeney

On the 12th day of Christmas Lucy Sweeney gave to me: “Three way neck tie causes some debate at an office Christmas party.”

Dear Diary,

I’ve had a Christmas epiphany. The office Christmas party was tonight. I hosted Todd’s-Tantalising-Team-Trivia as usual. Then I told them I was popping to the loo, but really I was going change into my Zany Santa outfit as a treat.

I hid behind the bar, ready to surprise them. I heard their familiar voices approaching the bar. I tuned in and heard they were making fun of my trivia. They were just being sore losers. More voices joined in, apparently they only came to Kofta and Karaoke night for the free feed, and there really was a spare spot on their 5 aside team.

 The young bar tender looked down at me crouching between the taps with a look of pity. Surely someone would stand up for me? This is probably just banter; I’m their fun out-of-the-box manager.

My secretary Denise piped up. This was it. She loves me. She suggested the Zany Santa outfit. Instead I discovered she thought the novelty three-person-ties were not fun team building exercises after all, but rather violated their human rights. This was met with roaring laughter, which was only topped when she revealed that she had suggested the Zany Santa outfit as a sarcastic joke.

This was the final pin in my blow-up ego. I stood up and ripped off my googly eye glasses and “fun’n’furry cropped Santa jacket”. My workers’ mortified faces stared back at me.

“I’m moving departments,” I declared. “For the record, the three-way-necktie scheme was a great way to get a promotion. If any of you had lasted a full day attached to your team, you would have got a pay rise. But it appears none of you can appreciate my post modern ironic humour. The jokes on you!”

And I left.

When I closed the door there was a roar of laughter. Perhaps my jokes were getting through after all?


Allies – Day 19 – Caitlin Callanan

Today’s idea: “A man trying to throw himself in front of a car at a pedestrian crossing” from Caitlin Callanan.


First day at a new school is always hard. I’ve learnt to make strategic friends. Pick a big scary kid and you should be safe from bullying.

On the walk to school I struck up conversation with a boy. He told me he was expelled from his last school. Perfect bully-shield candidate I thought. I asked him if he wanted to smoke behind the sheds (this is the type of thing bully-shields like to do). He agreed, saying he liked to live life on the edge and proceeding to jump in front of the oncoming traffic. Lucky he jumped at the exact time we passed a pedestrian crossing. This should have been a give-away that my new ally was a faker: a loner like me. My mistake became clear as we walked into class and he tried to convince me ‘wanker’ was a term of endearment.

I’ve made friends with a bully-magnet.


Beauty – Day 18 – Matt Hsu

“A bearded lady almost wins a conservative beauty contest” from Matt Hsu was pulled this morning. So here we go:


I have a confession. About a week ago, I was accused of being sexist in the media. When I judged the Miss Queenslander competition I wasn’t being forward thinking; I was being selfish. I didn’t vote for the bearded lady because I really think she is beautiful. I voted for her as a stunt so people would think I wasn’t shallow. Now I am held up as a spokes person for gender equality. I want to tell everyone that I’m a fake, but I think I’ve legitimately helped the movement. 

I guess the constant feminist conference talks are payback for my selfishness. I suppose it’s not so bad, it beats most minister duties. I’m actually getting in to this whole feminism thing. Last week I even got to do an ironic topless calendar with some hot feminists.  


Traffic – Day 17 – Brad Coasty H

Today I pulled out “Held hostage in a traffic jam” which came from a twitter conversation I had with the traffic guy at ABC radio on the very first day of my challenge. 

Dear Diary,

I was sitting in traffic, enjoying the privacy of my tinted windows, belting out Robbie Williams when the door opened. A man climbed inside. He looked just like robbers do in films, bag of cash and all. He even said “Drive!”

I told him I couldn’t, I was stuck in traffic. He looked up for the first time and let out a stream of amazingly misused abuse. Things like “those bitchers sent me on a wild fucking goof chase!”

“At least you waited for me. Thanks. They told me to look for the ugly tinted car,” he had finished.

I’d gone to protest but then felt anxious he might have a gun, so I asked him how much he got.

Nothing. In fact, he’d held up a pet store with what turned out to be a water pistol and had been laughed out of the store. His supposed mates had tricked him. I felt bad for him. But he needed to know I wasn’t the driver either.

When I told him he pulled a knife (albeit the wrong way at first) and said I was now his hostage. He couldn’t have me telling everyone. Just I was feeling genuinely afraid of this nutter, he suddenly stops and looks at the CD player.

“Is this Robbie?” he asked.

I nod.

“Well, perhaps I’ll let you go this once. But don’t squeak! I don’t take kindly snatches!”

I didn’t even have time to tell him it was “snitches” before he was gone. At least it was an interesting drive home.


Key Change – Day 16 – Brett Pemberton

A tiny family lives inside the trumpet of a famous jazz man.


I miss my room in the Tuba already. It was so spacious. Me and my brother would slide around and make up games. The human player didn’t get many gigs, so we had lots of spare time. But today we moved into Nat’s trumpet. It’s very cramped and we’re told he plays every night. Dad loves it. He says now we’ll be respected by the instrument dwelling community. I told him that I don’t care about status. He put me on spit valve duty. I was fuming until the gig tonight. The sound was incredible. We were working with a true artist. I didn’t want to tell dad, but I think I’m going to like it after all. Maybe if I keep doing a good job, we can join the team in Billy Taylors Piano.


The Town – Day 15 – Georgia Welly

Today for diary December I got my christmas wish! I got a real diary entry from a very dear and brave friend called Georgia. So I wrote her a story: 

Georgia’s town was isolated. Her people were peaceful, hard working and fearful. The wall had been closed when she was little to keep out the Others.

Home to a rare and precious mineral, her Town had been flooded with Others trying to trick the townspeople. But her people were smart and whilst the Others warred with each other, they closed the wall. When the Others realised, they were furious. Waves of their armies crashed against the wall, weakening it with every strike. To keep the peace, her people had struck a deal. They would work tirelessly to export equal amounts of the mineral to all.

Since then, mining is the only respectable job. Her father gave up his passion (science) to dig, everyone did. Mining protects her Town. The people became interchangeable, except Georgia.

At 12 she found a discarded piano, and at 14 could play it with her eyes closed. But she was seen as selfish by most, and told to dig. So she did. She dug under the wall and never looked back.

In the years that followed she played in many colourful cities to thousands of Others. Some of whom turned out not to be so bad. She sent a letter home explaining her success every day. The reply was always the same Come home- Dad. She assumed the townspeople still thought music was selfish. So she ignored them. She was terrified of going back to her old life where everything was the same.

5 years later, despite her fears, she decided to go home. What if they were in danger and she really had been selfish?

When she returned she found the wall still stood, as did the mines. But everything had changed. When she left, her father had been inspired to take up science again. He discovered a new way of using the mineral that was indestructible and they had rebuilt the wall. The town was safe, and filled with scientists, musicians and artists.

For those curious the real diary entry is below and it could also double as the girl from the story’s diary entry before she went home. 

Dear Diary,

I can’t believe I will be going home in just a few days. I have been away so long. I am excited to see my family and my friends, who I have missed so much. But I am also a little afraid. When most people spend time away from home they fear that things will change while they were gone, that the lives of the people they know will move on and they will lose their place in the scheme of things. Maybe I am different, because I fear that nothing will have changed – that everything will be the same. Too ordinary, too easy, too familiar. Will returning to an old environment instigate a backwards evolution of the self? Or, to apply a philosophy I have learnt to be quintessentially true, might returning home be whatever I can imagine to want it?


Sakrillegious – Day 14 – Pete Lowry

Today I got “7 went in. 3 Came out. The others decided to stay…” from  Pete Lowry. I was stuck for aggges, but finally came up with this. 


It’s hard to deal with the concept that my life is just aimless swimming around. Like most krill I grew up believing in The One. According to legend, The One is a massive blubbery fish with loads of teeth and inside is another world. Thousands of krill swim into the mouth and cross over each year.

Today I saw The One. Me and my krill-ball team swam toward the mouth, exited to move on to the holy land. I suddenly felt a pang of fear as I swam toward the giant tongue. I looked back just as the mouth closed. Darkness. I felt a strong sucking feeling. I could hear the cries of Hundreds of other terrified krill. I got stuck in between two teeth along with my team mates. Then, I heard a voice.

“Help me,” it said.

I looked around. I could make out an old krill who was stuck next to me. He was horribly damaged as the mouth had bitten down on him.

“The atheist plankton group were right,” he said. “We are just a food source for this thing. It’s not a deity.”

Inside a giant mouth about to be eaten, was not the greatest place to have an existential crisis.

“Guys, let’s get out of here,” I pleaded.

I was met with a torrent of abuse: “Non-believer,” “Blasphemy!”

Only one of my team mates, Kate, agreed with me. The others decided to stay. They told us we were idiots and they were going to paradise.

I wondered for a moment, but one look back at the old krill again confirmed we had to leave. I grabbed onto Kate and the old krill. The mouth opened again and we swam against the tide. We were buffeted by more krill trying to get in the mouth but somehow we made it.

Perhaps there is a land beyond the mouth. But I am not so scared of the aimless swimming now. I think Kate might be my girlkrill now, and old shrimp has no-one else to nurse him back to health.


Mummy – Day 12- Matt Hsu

Today I write to you from work on my lunch break. I’ve been thinking about Matt Hsu’s prompt: “a mummified little man inside a chocolate wrapper” all morning while working and here’s what I’ve got.


My sister once told me that Hans Christian Anderson tales were history books. I’ve always thought she was an idiot untill today. While walking through a London park I saw a tiny tent made of chocolate wrappers. I looked inside and found what I thought was a little mummy man toy. But when I picked it up it smelt and the tiny bandages began to disintergrate. I looked at the tomb’s inscription which read Here Lies Thumbelina. Then over the top in tiny red graffiti read Bigot! Toad Hater! 


Hair – Day 11 – Georgia Wellington

Peladophobia – Fear of bald people. (Georgia Wellington)

8th December 2013

I’ve managed to avoid them till now. My wife and family all have lovely hair. Shopping is a hassle, but mostly I’ve learnt to avoid the shortness of breath, dry mouth, nausea and dread. Peladophobia they call it: a fear of bald people.

I’d never met Dad. All I knew was that he went mad and disappeared one day when I was little. I saw a picture of him in the newspaper the other day (Mad Wig Man brings Christmas Cheer). I felt shaky. My stomach tied in knots like the hair stuck in the shower plughole. Everything was falling into place as his shiny scalp gleamed up at me. My mum used to say I took after her, but for two things I got from dad. Now I know what they are: hereditary baldness and peladophobia.


Paint – Day 10 – Lost Movements

Tonight I was invited to write at Lost Movements, an art event in West End. We had an hour or so to write a story based on the inspiration from other artists in the space. I singled out the awesome people who were having their bodies painted by artists. This is the result.

Dear Diary,

Jen came to school today with no paint. She just doesn’t give one single fuck. One of the male teachers even told her to cover up.

She said we’ve been covering ourselves up for hundreds of years. She said it was a statement, time to make a change. Apparently hundreds of years ago it was cool to be orange, and they had this thing called a tan.

Jen didn’t want people to know how rich she was by the quality of her paint or the tint of her contacts. She’s never even been under the knife.

She got called ugly and slut by Tyson, but I thought she looked beautiful. It was scary really seeing someone. It felt so private. No contacts, no paint, just her and her uniform.  I felt angry for her. Could I interject?

I’ve always been into the paint. I go to all the best designers. Sometimes I even fork out for a real live artist if there’s a special occasion.

I’ve been painted as a Picasso, the universe, pixels, even the Mona Lisa. The other girls at school look up to me. We go paint shopping together and even do surgery days. I thought it was a channel for self expression. How would people know I was unique and artsy if I wasn’t painted? But after seeing Jen today I think it may be more of a mask. Camouflage even.

I looked around at my friends. They were all looking at Jen like an embarrassing parent at a party. I stood up and crossed the courtyard. I got my water bottle out of my bag, poured it all over my face, and began to scrub with my jumper.

Tyson opened his mouth.

“What?” I snapped. “Never seen a girl’s skin before?”

I think Jen and I are friends now.



Surprise Award Attack!

Last night I was watching Never Mind the Buzzcocks when a tweet came through saying I’d won an award at the 2013 Express Media Awards for my 24 Hour Writing Challenge. I still have no idea how that happened but I’m very chuffed! In fact I had to scroll through the live feed to find out what I’d won (Most innovative new project or work by young person or young people). I am now left feeling sheepish, as I didn’t know the Awards were on, and grateful that the National Young Writers Fest let me do that crazy challenge as a legit event!

Congratulations to all the other winners- particularly Geoff Orton who ran the Younger Young Writer’s Program and came to visit me (and give me ginger bread men) during the challenge. Be sure to check it out next year AND his other project

If you are a young writer you probably already know but check out and their awesome publication!

If you made it to the end of this post here is a bonus David Mitchell pic!

david mitchell important

Snow – Day 9 – Liam Lowry

Today’s entry idea is from Liam Lowry (first idea from America!) who gave me simply “Magic Snow” 


I was born today. I got made by a boy called Liam. I wish he gave me legs. It’s hard jumping around on a big ball. I don’t like the nose he gave me much either. I would have preferred something more inventive than a carrot. But he’s a nice boy. Last winter I was made in a park and an anti-snowman group threw salt on me. I’ve never been accepted by a human before.

Liam feeds me chocolate and only drinks juice when I’m around (water is so cannibal!). He even gave me this diary to write in. I taught him about precipitation and snow-reincarnation. Tomorrow he said we could make a snow dog. I’ve always wanted a dog!

-Snowy (humans aren’t too inventive with names either)

Chicken #8 – Day 8 – Jason Engel

Jason Engel messaged the page with this a while ago:

“A chicken crosses the road, chickens friend wants to know why, WHYYYYY!?!?”

Well Chicken #8 is hopefully about to explain it all for you Jason.

Dear diary,

This will be my last diary entry before the uprising.

Ever since I can remember I’ve been crossing roads. We’re brought up that way. None of the other chickens ever questioned it until last month. I still remember coming back from my shift on the road. Chicken #6 looked at me and asked the question I’d been waiting for: “why?” It was then I knew we had a chance.

3 years ago I met Irish Bloke #4 on my break and he started to speak to me. We sat together every break after that. Eventually I picked up some human language and he told me that there was another world out there. A world which isn’t dictated by dads in sandals and the insides of Christmas crackers. Though I didn’t believe him, it was a nice thought.

But when Chicken #6 asked why we crossed the road, I realised we had to try. What if we all refused to walk across the road?

We’ve spent weeks convincing the other chickens and today is the day. I hope there is another world. I hope we are not kept alive only by the imaginations of idiots in paper Christmas crowns.


Chicken #8

PS. Irish Bloke #4 if you’re reading this, I’m glad you found my Diary. I’m sorry you couldn’t convince all the Blokes to walk off the job. Thank you for giving me hope.

Giant & Rupert – Day 7 – Sue Wright

I think we could all guess where this was going when I drew “A small dog called Rupert befriends a Giant” from Sue Wright. 


Giant find friend. Friend is dog. Giant call him Rupert. Giant walk Rupert. Rupert get tired after two giant steps so Giant carry him.

Others laugh and point. They not believing my threats anymore. They chase us. Giant drop Rupert. Giant lose Rupert. Giant start to cry. Others catch up. Giant run. Giant make it to cave. Giant’s wailing cause rock fall. Others leave.

Giant has no friends. Giant go to bed. Not even quilt make Giant feel better.

When Giant wake up, Rupert is there. Rupert turn out to be expert at hiding and scavenging. Rupert has stolen bone collection from others.

Now when Rupert and Giant go walking. Others cower. They think Giant is magic who can move rocks, summon bones and bring dogs back from dead.



A girl needs shoes- Day 6 – Cheryl Lowry

Today’s challenge: Twitter Tuesday (Story under 140 characters) + Diary December (must be a diary entry or based off someones diary entry) + Cheryl Lowry’s prompt “A tango dancer finds herself in Buenos Aries without her favourite 9cm stilettos.” 

Buenos Aries Day 1: I forgot my stilettos. The audience stared. A bittersweet realisation: magic shoes were real, my tango talent wasn’t.

Life Log – Day 5 – Alita Pashley

Today’s idea was from Alita Pashley who gave me this:

“Sticky-outty hair because too much Harry Potter (and wine) happened last night. Now I have homicidal feelings towards some less-than-desirable colleagues who are not letting me buy coffee.
Please include magical realism.
(34 words! BAM!)”

1am.      Wine. Shouting. Argument over Horcruxes. Uncontrollable laughter.

2am.      Carried home by Snape. He’s surprisingly nice. Room has turned into dodgy                            spinning fete ride.

8am.      Wake up late. Nargles have taken all my matching socks.

9am.      Get to work. Meeting. Homicidal feelings toward colleagues who won’t let me buy                  coffee.

10am.    Communal stale biscuits tell me I have to eat them. Regret. Can I sleep with eyes                  open?

11am.    No.

12pm.   Colleagues argue over name of steps in new marketing strategy. ‘Planks’ or                             ‘platforms’? Kill me now.

1pm.      Meeting over. Lunch commencing. Winning!

2pm.      Toilet break. Mirror points out I’m losing. Seem to have modelled my hair on                          Cameron Diaz in ‘Something about Mary’.

3pm.      Okay need to do actual work. Who is texting me? Shut up phone, I am being                          productive!

4pm.      Another text. Must be a sign. Trying to concentrate on work today is futile. Check                phone, it’s Snape!

5pm.      See you later suckers. This woman has a date to get ready for.

6pm.      Make up tricked me. Snape is now dating the Joker. What is his real name?

7pm.      He’s at the door. I can’t just call him Snape.

8pm.      Why haven’t I asked his real name yet? I can’t go back.

9pm.      Snape is a lot hotter without wig.

10pm.   Sweat gods, please have mercy on me and my white top.

11pm.   Snape went for hug. I went for kiss. Disaster.

12am.    Home again. Master Google laughs at me and tells me I ballsed it up. At least I                        won’t have to admit I don’t know his name.

Giant -Day 4- Erin Michelle

First day of ‘Diary December’ so I’m keeping it simple. Today’s idea brought to you by Erin Michelle: “A quilt made of materials not normally associated with quilts.”


Giant make quilt for cave today out of woven tree branches, cow skins, hay and flattened human tin wheelie boxes. Giant get called soft by others. Giant doesn’t care. Giant’s cave is fabulous. Also, giant tell others that next time it will be made from their skin.