Heroin chic.

I had to kick the loo door in at work today. Someone overdosed on heroin in there. The last place I'd expect that to happen would be in a bookstore toilet.

Go me. My door-kicking skills are not pastede on yay.

Oh, and the dumbfuck junkie didn't die; it seems I called a&e just in time. He'd gone into respiratory arrest.

The Step-Gran.

In all the heroin-addled mess, I forgot to whinge about my step-grandmother's visit. And I know you all wanted to read about it. Admit it.

As soon as my steppy helped her in to the house, after having been sitting all the way from Manchester, she says she "just needs to sit down for a bit." What, she couldn't haul her fat arse from the car to the front door without a rest? Good God.

AND! Instead of using my alfredo sauce on her pasta, she used salad dressing. Like the kind you put on a green salad. Throughout the meal, she constantly wanted my mum to get her more water, or some coffee, or some more water, so that my poor mum could hardly sit to eat. And yes, I went to get up to get her drinks, but my mum insisted that I not. I don't know why, really.

Off she went this morning back home, thank God. I was gone when she left, else I'd have been roped into driving her to the damn train. Have I ever mentioned how much I despise driving?