The Witched Wick of the Weest

I think I might be an apple connoisseur. This time of year the Royal Galas are in good stead. They must know it's the Queen's Jubilee next week. Normally I'm a Pink Lady kinda gal but they aren't so sweet this time of year. They're more of an autumn fruit. I'm not a big fan of a Grannysmith. They make my glands go a bit funny. And Golden delicious are neither golden nor delicious. But anyway, that's not what this post is about. This post is about, well, nothing in particular really. My life, though happy and relatively peaceful, is a little mundane at the moment.

I've been watching a series called Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction. As you can probably tell from the title it is American and total trash T.V. It's about strange coincidences and ghostly things and the point is to determine if they are true or not. It's one of those things that the more unbelievable it is the more likely they are to claim that it'a true. The believable ones are, apparently, codswallop. Anyway, I told Jakers the other morning that I had a rather pointless dream about his block of flats being redecorated. He'd been staying at mine and I joked about how funny it would be if he went home and they were decorated. We both agreed that would be a story (albeit a very boring one) for BBFF. Turns out that Jakers block wasn't redecorated but his next door neighbour had repainted their door. I don't care how pointless and random it is I still think it's a bit freaky. Being psychic would surely be a curse. I like the unknown. I like surprises (so much so that I requested a surprise birthday party). I like the suspense. Being psychic would be a total burden and not to mention the fact that if I was in a different era I would be burned at the stake as a witch. I don't want to be a witch. I want to be a clown. I know they're just as scary but I view juggling as a much more worthy pastime than casting spells and cursing people.