For anyone who isn't aware, the Isle of Dogs is a bit of a misleading name for a place, as I had to point out to my friend Katie - 'Oh my God, I didn't know he lived on an island!' - he doesn't. It's a section of London all but the top of which is surrounded by the Thames, and it's called the Isle of Dogs because back in the days of olde Henry VIII kept his dogs there...apparently. And that's your geography/history lesson for the day.

(And the boyfriend just rolled over in his bed and announced in a pitiful voice 'My legs hurt,' ahaha, glad I'm not alone.)

I think the reason I've been finding it so easy to wake up early is because of my horrific working days, which for the main have seen me wake up just after six and get home just after six. All overtime is double pay at the moment and I did have to commit to doing some but the hours are consequently long and fucking shite. I think it also shows how much I care about my job when I was one of the last people in the building one day last week and a bloke from another team came over with a bit of paper saying he thought it might be something belonging to my team. My response? 'I don't know but let's put it in the bin, just to be safe.' I also think I might get a bollocking soon over my email abuse during working hours (up to 30 a day...oops).

Anyway I'm going to go back to bed because it's wrong wrong wrong to be up at this time on a Sunday.

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