I've bought one of those garden incinerators. It looks like a quadriplegic version of The Tin Man from Wizard of Oz.
eel like you're in the Matrix every time you look at the calendar. 'But, wait, what the-' is my phrase of choice lately.
Until I actually realised that my left knee hurts more than the heat of a thousand suns when pressure applied to it. Yoga mat back in the closet.
I don't have a half a million quid kitchen with every single conceivable piece of equipment and ingredients that include oats rolled from vestal virgins in the outer Mongolian alps. It's just not real life.