Artistic Licence: Quiet time down the drain
Reader, I feel guilty.
Reader, I feel guilty. The other night, I sneaked into the bathroom when none of my housemates were around and enjoyed a long and luxurious shower, steam-filled and chock-a-block with lotions and potions. I emerged in a giddy haze of steam, fragrant as a rose, and delighted with myself. This was on Wednesday, I should add, the evening after the great Irish watershed, when the nation power-showered together in the sad expectation of never getting...
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