Falling asleep to Don Draper’s antics, cringing as Michelle Williams shuns Ryan Gosling, sipping Pepsi as Mila Kunis exposes her dark side under the duvet, it seems that s-s-sexual frustration is on everyone’s lips. February, the month when it matters. This 28-day stretch has begun with a chain of restaurant emails, commanding you and your significant other to ‘Book your Valentines table while you can!’ You contemplate if that night will be spent as this one, with a lone lit candle and George Michael. How sad.
Sunny days have not induce frolicking outdoors but instead struggling with the stiff door and grabbing your fucking gloves. You yearn for pleated hands on picnic blankets and exposed arms but get punched with a sniffly nose and forever wonder where you put the Carmex. It’s not all bad, though. With new documentaries storming 4od, the Monday night chance to see a tiny head protruding from the vulva of what seems to be half woman/half beast has put most off procreation for some time.
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