Thank fuck, we've finally got some rain to get rid of this pish heat. I've been sleeping in the nip at night and Fabian Wildman has been slithering about in his zentai screaming that it's all too much. The zentai wearing has lasted for a bit longer than usual but I think he's just having one last fling because his next flatmate might not be so understanding about it.
He emerged from his cocoon (his analogy - not mine) this morning looking malnourished but surprisingly more clean asking if he could have some toast.
I told him to help himself and he stormed off in a huff. I don't know what's up with him. Betty Blue called round to see him later and they spent a long time up in his room listening to Michael Jackson records and I'm sure I heard him wailing at one point. Poor Fabian, I didn't know he was such a fan. Jacko was never really here nor there with me. I think the press were ballbags to him but really it's none of my business.
Betty Blue came out to get some tissues for him and a glass of water because he was nearly dehydrated. I asked her if she was a Jacko fan. She said not really, when she was a wee girl her favourite song was Martine McCutcheon's Perfect Moment but that it wasn't really that good. It was just because she thought it was like Martine's character Tiffany from Eastenders' perfect moment, not Martine's.
