Feckin moths! I feckin hate them. Bloody fluttery, dusty, scary-shadowy, in-yer-facey, don't-know-certain-death-when-they-see-it-y little bastards. What is it about a two inch open window that makes them think, "ooh, I might just engineer it so that against all laws of probability I'll fly in there and then spend a few hours harrassing the poor bastard sat on his bed minding his own business and burning myself on the light"? Feck all on moth telly, obviously.
As you may have established tonight is another designated "rest night" from training, as I am sat in my room stressing over my job interview tomorrow. "What's that?", I hear you cry? "He's finally getting his arse in gear and moving out of banking?!" Well, no. I have an interview tomorrow for my own job. And am up against 5 other people. Work that one out.
Wish me luck.
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