i struggle to adapt to modern life and people drive me to drink (whisky not fucking tea)
Don't worry I read the guardian, have some resemblance of a social life, a job and a relatively accurate tax code. What's more i wear skinny jeans and can quote Satre in French.
thought so, lets go get drunk make small talk and spend two hours trying to ascertain whether the other is the type to own a sex dungeon and whether or not we are in fact OK with that.
DISCLAIMER: I'm terrible at small talk you'll get mostly sarcasm apathy and political nihilism interspersed with tequila and swearing.
making poor decisions.
making up for the previously mentioned poor decisions.
table tennis and typos
personally i don't think he understood my motivation for writing a 6 page ode to megabus whilst travelling from London to Glasgow.
not in that order!