Katie

Right. So fucking heads up to the world, since none of you can be arsed to keep up with the sports events in town.

Manningtree, noon, Abraxan Races at Mistley Downs. I know you lot want to watch horses drink. And fly like you never fucking thought a creature that big could manage.

Fucking hell. I am just not bloody not used to having someone else sleeping in my space.

And I do not fucking snore, thank you.

( Private )

Sod all, has anyone got any rotten vegetables?

Always fucking wanted to send a bunch to a newspaper. Thinking maybe grapes - they'd roll about every fucking where and get smushed and the like, up into everything. Right sight nastier than tomatoes, I'd say, and hell of a lot less typical.

There's supposed to be some sort of protest, I hear. Protesting fuel and tax and whatnot, out on the 18th. They're going to go about and meet up in bloody service stations, then drive on into London to do bugger knows all. Probably whine and drink a bunch of bloody lattes, then talk about the cost of petrol for an hour, then go home.

I don't get it.

Don't fucking get it, why you'd spend so much life marching about and holding a sign to protest something that's a bloody chemical, innit? And they're fucking driving to it, that's the kicker. We're not driving half as much as we used. And yeah, it fucking sucks, but that's just life. If you've got to go and protest a thing, couldn't it be something like kicking fucking babies or summat? I saw this thing on the telly about people cutting up women so they couldn't bloody come. That seems a lot better to go stomp about for than the price of petrol.

But yeah. Probably be there any road. It's a bit dodgy, but it's the whole free bloody latte thing.

( Private )

It's about fucking time. You'd think it wouldn't be so bloody hard to find a decent Swivenhodge match in England, but every buggering time I try to make it out, something comes up. Well. The Lugg Lions are playing in Leominister tomorrow and I'll fucking well make it unless my broom explodes in the morning. Or I spontaneously combust.

Infinitely better sport than Quidditch.

Any road. Bridge's been sacked again. Lovely woman, sure she fucking deserved it, but it means that the living room's been taken over by her bloody fags, empty bags of crisps and the telly blaring full stop. Now I know I'm a fucking smoker myself but has she got to do it in front of the kid? Least I buggering take it out of the house.

Also means that I've got to make some extra money. Business isn't doing good. As usual. Why couldn't Dad have opened a buggering - oh, I don't know - something else?

( Private )

( Not warded, cut for rambling and profanity )