Not sure what to write. Really. Honestly. Truthfully. For once in my life I have nothing to say. Not a sausage. A sausage. Maybe I do. Just that. No. That sounds wrong. So very wrong. Or do I just have a dirty mind. Imma Be. Good song. When I tell you about mine and Nivernas sleep over, I shall spell everything as it sounds.
Wee haad mi tent upp in her garden. Wee wor torking all nite. I wos tired in the morning. Then shee cayme bak to miyne. Wee put the tent up in mi garden. Att ten o clock wee haad hot choclat and wee took the minee deeveedee plaer owt intoo the garden. Wee wachedt twenty seven dresses. It ran owt of batry sow wee turned it off and torked. Wen I got tired wee turned off the lite and torked morr. Niverna fell asleep sow I went too. It was fun. Herr dress shee got from paris was nise. Thank yoo. XxX