You know last week, how I introduced you to the digable, sprinkable, squeezable splendour t...? Well this week I've found something else for you. It is something about which I feel equally passionate, fervent and obsessive. Because it is absolutely r-u-b-b-i-s-h.
That stupid burning orange ball.
It sits there in the blue stuff glaring down at us with its hot shinyness and bullies my body into oozing the slick, greasy liquid that spills from my brow and seems intent on dripping in my eyes. It even tries to impair my vision when I am in the important business of hitting stuff, a time when I certainly don't need beads of sweat clouding my judgement - the force with which I clang stuff together could easily see me lose one of the teeth I haven't even got yet. And not only does it get in my eyes, but it makes my armpits stick together. And it smells like Dad's shoes. I don't like it.