12A: WARNING: Contains scenes of mildly intense melodrama.

I HAVE COLD SORES, I WANT TO DIE. I tried to book a place at Dignitas but the package I wanted wouldn't show up in the basket and then they don't take Visa Debit, Boots stiffed me five quid for the teeniest tiniest piffling nanotube of cold sore cream that has ABSOLUTELY NO EFFECT AT ALL WHATSOEVER. I want to break my virtuous ways and start drinking copiously until the incessant and merciless tingling moves from my lips to my hands to my feet, I want to amputate my face, I can't ever go out in public ever again and I'm knackered. Cold sores are nature's way of telling you that you're run-down and NOT QUITE HIDEOUS ENOUGH.

You should have seen people recoil in horror when I got on the bus earlier, it was like the parting of the Red Sea, I've never got to a seat so quickly. I have swiftly learned that when I get on the train it's a window seat on the left hand side or an aisle seat on the right hand side only. Otherwise people get scared when they do that looking about the carriage thing where they're actually trying to get a side-glimpse of you and do some JUDGING between stations. Oh, caps lock feels so good.

Sob, sob - I'm deformed, beauty is so fleeting, I'll never work again.