Now you mention it baws, a really friendly nigerian bloke emailed me yesterday. I'm retiring next week when the money reaches my account, what a fucking result!!
I'm not diabetic mate, and if anything I'm underweight. You don't need a gym for that, just a halfway sensible diet and a couple of daily walks with the dog. If you knew what I have to shift around in my work you'd laugh your bollocks off, then cringe and clutch at your back.
Is she hugely pessimistic, sick of her life and job, desperate to emigrate to the antipodes, obsessed with the beatles, poverty stricken, mourning for her lost love, abused by her employers and craving sympathy? If so, you have found your soulmate.
The sequence of thought when you get your first auto; Week 1 What the fuck have I done? Week 2 I suppose it's alright... Week 3 Why the fuck do they even make manual gearboxes?
I don't even know what it was about her Jim, but she just seemed like she'd be a fantastic shag and up for anything. Plus she had nice legs and a hell of a cleavage, and was always smiling. And she had a filthy laugh. I'd have been in there like a ferret up a drainpipe.
I found vanessa feltz strangely alluring back when she was a chubster. Since she got divorced and lost all that weight I wouldn't give her a second glance. And no, I'm not a feeder.
I stopped smoking tobacco years ago dapps, but would have to challenge your assertion that there is no physical addiction to it. There most definitely is.