Oh gosh, I know it has been a very long time since I last wrote. But to be honest, not a lot has annoyed me recently. Sure, there’s the whole hating England and not being able to find a job and missing my friends thing, but that’s just normal background feelings now. Nothing has made me actively angry. UNTIL NOW.

Yes, I know that everyone claims that it’s summer. But here’s a secret: It’s not hot. In fact, right now it’s raining and I’m typing this wrapped in my duvet. Bearing in mind that I am the Queen of the world (Next stop: Complete universe domination!) and that what I say goes, I conclude that it is not summer. So, you fine specimens of English manhood, stop GALLIVANTING AROUND WITH YOUR TOP OFF. It’s bad enough that I have to stare at your pasty white bodies when I walk through Hyde Park, but when I see you wandering around Headingley with your short off and a can of beer in one hand, I actually want to vomit.

You have a big white flabby tummy which is the cause of too many curries, lager, and nights in watching the football. Just because Ronaldo whips his shirt off at the slightest cause for celebration does not mean that you should too. Keep your damn clothes on.

OK, so volunteering in a bookshop is a pretty awesome, fun job. There books! Hundreds of books! Millions of books to read! Oxfam is great! Support Oxfam! And the other volunteers are really cool and eccentric, and it’s fun. However, there is one thing that really annoys me:

It seems that everytime a book goes on sale at Waterstones, or is part of a “3 for 2” deal, about a week later we get 500000000000 million copies of it donated. Which basically indicates that everyone in England is having their reading choices dictated by what’s on sale at Waterstones or Boarders. Which depresses me. A lot. If I see another copy of “The Abortionists Daughter”, or the latest Harry Potter, or Ian BLOODY Rankin, I’m going to hurt someone with a pricing gun.