That whore. She's only gone and announced she's having a birthday party next week. A birthday party for herself, the selfish cow, even though it's my birthday in nine days. And guess when her birthday party is? FRIDAY. St-effing-Patricks Day. I had big plans for St Patricks day. I was going to go to the parade with the dog and make him walk in it with a tricolour tied to his back. Then I was going to come home and make the traditional Aughney family Paddy's day dish: lime jelly, vanilla ice cream and tinned mandrin. Then I would put on my Seven Ages dvd and drink some tins of Guinness. Maybe I would persuade everyone to sing The Fields of Athenry or something; plans weren't exactly locked down.
Now I have to work till five o'clock and go out with her. Having to work can't be traced precisely to Elizabeth but I bet she'll laugh when she hears that. Cow. And then it'll be my birthday and I'll be all: 'hey are you coming to my party?' and everyone will be going, 'uh, nah Lucy, wrecked after Elizabeth's. And broke from buying her big, massive, gold-plated present so can't get you anything.'