You might not know that about me, not that you would have been in possession of a decent piece of goss anyway, but I can’t see sod all. SOD ALL. For some reasons my mum waited for my 17th birthday to deem me old enough to wear contacts (she also allowed the eyebrow plucking in the process, but popularity didn’t spring straight away as I forecasted) and I’ve tried to steer clear of glasses ever since. But my eyes are part-time prats and force me to switch back to goggles sometimes.
My mom is an avid reader of Frankie’s. I was on her laptop trying to convert her to Netflix when I saw that my blog was bookmarked. Thanks the Almighty, the boss lady doesn’t speak a lot of English and hopefully missed the thousands odes to red wine (or rosé comes summer) this blog has poured (pun originally non intended, but proudly kept here during the editing process) over the last couple of years.