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Marlene McKinnon
08 March 1979 @ 10:48 am
The sun is shining, the birds are singing and my fucking pig just charged someone's ankles on command.

What a world we do live in.
 
 
Marlene McKinnon
15 February 1979 @ 01:43 pm
I expected there to be things missing (you can keep the gravy boat but I WANT MY FUCKING LAMPSHADE BACK). I expected a mess (it's a fucking sty most of the time anyway). I did not expect to wake up, slightly hungover from exorbitant amounts of pilfered liquor from Potter, and FIND THIS.

DUNG!Collapse )

WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH IT, DUNG!? IT LEFT TRACKS ALL THROUGH MY KITCHEN AND UNLESS IT FINDS SOME FUCKING TRUFFLES I AM EXTREMELY, EXTREMELY DISPLEASED.
 
 
Marlene McKinnon
08 February 1979 @ 02:11 pm
Work is dull, as per usual, but it’s especially dull after a weekend full of drunken carousing. Unfortunately, none of my esteemed customers are content to let me wallow in these doldrums properly. They all insist on loitering around the counter and boring me with Quidditch talk. I now loathe Quidditch fans even more, which I honestly didn’t think was possible. My own capacity for complete and utter revulsion is a constant surprise.

I also didn’t realise that Quidditch supplies could be trussed up for Valentines Day. Rest assured, though, they can. Actually, the whole Alley is looking appropriately tarty. It’s as if an army of fourteen-year-old girls swept in during the night and vomited pink streamers and cheap heart cutouts everywhere. There is an overabundance of cheap chocolate, though, which is tolerable (that reminds me, I ought to send Patty some so she doesn’t end up feeling depressed).

Lastly, my flatmate left for Aruba this morning. I don’t know why (it’s a bloody mystery, actually. What the fuck do matronly old witches need in Aruba?) but I do know that I will be spreading out my star charts tonight and no one will be around to whinge about it. Ha ha.
 
 
Marlene McKinnon
03 February 1979 @ 09:01 pm
What the hell rum and zucchini bread actually do make a good pair sort of dribbly but inherently

mm.

These journals are so much better while intoxicated. LIKE MOST THINGS.
 
 
Marlene McKinnon
27 January 1979 @ 04:19 pm
I have just been to the bookshop. This is a very good thing. Actually, it's bad, because I haven't the money to be buying hardbacks and memoires but they're much more exciting than bread and milk (oh sod it, firewhiskey and nectarines, I'm not that wholesome). Besides, I'm sure when I'm old and crusty I'll be glad that I nourished my mind rather than my body blah blah other incredibly daft Ravenclaw ramblings here.

That's quite a substantial paragraph, isn't it? Much better than my last few entries, I should say.

Anyroad, I have also purchased many presents (all very well hidden, mind, you birthday bastards*) so that all of my friends will have proof of my love and devotion in the form of material gifts. How heartwarming.

I expect very good cake as payment.

*And wenches, if I'm to be proper about it.
 
 
 
Marlene McKinnon
20 January 1979 @ 09:06 pm
Let's raise the general IQ of these books, yeah?

Eight across -- "a Sworne Booke, per se". The last letter is e.
 
 
Marlene McKinnon
11 January 1979 @ 09:48 pm
Interesting weather lately. With all the clouds and such. Cumuli, cirri, etc.

... Yeah.
 
 
Current Location: crossword chair
Current Mood: the hell
 
 
Marlene McKinnon
04 January 1979 @ 10:28 pm
Right, so. I'm now officially adding "my parents drunk" to the list of things that I would Never Like To See Again, Ever. Especially when they ended up getting completely shitefaced on, of all things, prissy brand-name chocolate liqueur. Who even does that, besides randy Sixth Year girls who fancy themselves foxy and cultured? No one, that's who, and I truly believe that Noah and Pat are scarred for life.

A pity, really.

Although not as pitiful as spending your New Years with your slurring mum and dad and freshly scarred siblings.

That's right, pity away. Although, honestly, it was loads more entertaining that being puked on and grabbed inappropriately by Ministry gophers, which is what I did last year. My favorite robes were ruined and my tits are still sore from it.

Fuck, my hands are cold. I'm bloody done with this thing unless it can magically become more entertaining than my History of Scandinavian Runes. Thus far, the Runes are in the lead.