Sunday, 7 February 2010


I always delete my browser history (Firefox calls it Private Data, which I like) before my boyfriend comes for the weekend. At this stage in our relationship I'm really not sure why; he knows I read about food and fashion and celebrities. He knows where I watch porn. He knows this blog exists, though I don't think he reads it. He clears his own history before I visit, too.

He left today after a sunny weekend. The browser history I've got now reads as a map of the past few days, full of chocolate and brunch and the inevitable facebook stalk; a checking of e-mail and links to flights for August. A pleasing version of those research trails lawyers are so annoyingly fond of.


On another note - I know what's wrong with me, now. I had a wisdom tooth extracted at an emergency dentist appointment on Wednesday. I am much better already.

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