It turns out that doing a full-time journalism degree is not only incompatible with blogging. It is incompatible with life.
Tonight is my first evening off in 11 weeks, yet I am sitting at my computer writing this. It appears that I’m incapable of relaxing unless I have at least two screens glowing and/or buzzing within my field of vision.
In fairness, this isn’t even relaxing. It’s like having a heart attack, but very slowly, over a number of weeks.
The upshot of my new busy lifestyle is that a whole new section of D for Dalrymple has basically written itself.
Ladies and dad, I give you… MY CRAP BASKET.
This section of the blog is for anyone who regularly gets to the checkout, looks down, and thinks: “Woah. My basket is really crap.”
I am a grown-up human who lives alone. I cannot be the only one swearing at supermarket self-checkout machines when they refuse to acknowledge a bulk purchase of laundry detergent and a single brown onion.
Join me, people. Email me your crap baskets. Christina D Kenny at the email beginning with a “g”. Or the Twitter.
Go.
D for Dalrymple 