Give the dangerous bitch her chocolate

Middle aged spinsterly behaviour strikes again. In bed by 9 pm, in long cotton nightie, when suddenly seized by the urge for chocolate.

"No no, you must not eat chocolate, you are not hungry and if you continue in this manner you will be a size 14" says the sex kitten voice in my head.

"Who could care less, I would rather go to bed with a sugar rush than be able to fit into my new matching underwear, for who is there to see it?" speaks my inner spinster.

The spinster wins. I consume half a Snickers Easter egg.

At 2 am this morning I had been awoken from a deep sleep by the bleep-bleep of my mobile phone. It was a text from my admirer, Penfold (he with the girlfriend.)

"I wish I was in your bed" said the text. It was very fortunate for him that he was nowhere near my bed, because I would have strangled him with my tights.

In a fury I turned my mobile phone off and turned over to go back to sleep. Two seconds later I remembered that my alarm clock did not work and I had been using my mobile as an alarm clock for several weeks. I turned it back on again.

I have therefore been to Argos to buy a new alarm clock, as I do not appreciate being propositioned by insomniacs in the early hours.

The whole matter has put me in such a foul mood that I have checked the calendar to see whether I have PMT, but no, that excuse (reason) to swear and eat chocolate is about 18 days away.