My Mad, Fat Diary
Last night, I wept. I wept in relief, in elation, in shock. I wept as I inhaled bourbon biscuits and sloshed red wine all over my dressing gown. I wept to a soundtrack of Madchester and wondered how on earth I’d reached my mid twenties and lived so ignorantly content, having never felt this kind of connection before. When most people recount the moment they fell in love, they speak of eyes meeting across a crowded room. Of lingering stares. All that shit. I’m about to tell you how I fell in love. Because last night, yes I wept. I wept because I’ve met my soul mate. Her name is Rachael Earl. And she lives in my TV.
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