I'd update but I am off celebrating. I've told everyone I know that I have been nominated for a prestigious blogging award. That's right, nominated. By my peers. Don't go correcting them, what they don't know won't hurt them. My aunt Mercy roared laughing. Everyone else seemed vaugely impressed though. I am thinking of letting the mayor honour me. She managed to marry into Mossy's family though so her judgement can't be all that sound. When I win I can put 'Lucy Aughney-Ireland's greatest blogger' on my passport. Brilliant.
Also, wee Laura Murph turned nineteen on Tuesday. She is hugely grumpy about it so don't mention it. What's nineteen, I say? Twenty-three, now that's a bitch of a number. March twenty-first, fuckers. I read an interview with Mark Little last week and in it he goes: 'if you're not passionate about something at twenty-one, you may as well wait for death'. What? I'm not passionate about anything except tuna sandwiches. That and where my next vodka is coming from.
Poor Lucy. An internet celebrity and a passionless worm waiting for death. I'm feeling a bit lukewarm about 2006 so far.