The beginning: Mother's sex fest.

I opened this blog in some hope I'd travel the world, see beautiful scenery and any poor sod viewing this could scroll down in their utmost jealousy. Turns out I'm that poor sod. So here I am with my moneyless adventure free life sitting on public transport that smells like a dehydrated person's piss on my merry way to my Mother's Ann Summer's party in which I had no choice but to attend. 

I'm past the point of distress and instead I have a facial expression monumentally similar to what Katie Hopkin's would be if my child was interacting with some other little prepubescent twat who's name was Princess. So as you can imagine I'm absolutely thrilled by the whole affair. Long story short if I don't attend this sex fest full of dry forty plus year olds getting excited over the fact that they can buy rubber recreations of male parts to suffice for their singledom my Mother won't talk to me.

Ludicrous I know. Because all sane mothers and daughters dress up in kinky nurse suits together and discuss the height of their orgasms. That's just the norm. 

The real honesty here is that I'm so mentally scarred by the fact that I didn't come from a test tube and my Mum isn't celibate that I'm more than ready to ram my hand down my throat and pull my lungs out of my chest, drop them on the floor in front of me and have dogs feed off of it.

So if you want to keep updated on my horrible hell keep reading my updates tonight.