… Is it twenty minutes yet?

… Being naked is not that big a deal, and especially now that I am bronzed all over. Well, mostly. I’m sure there’s that bit in the upper middle of my back that’s like the opposite of painting a target on your back. But yeah, so standing here with my arms held out so they don’t, what, glue themselves to my sides? I think I need to improve my technique. I go too fast, getting it over with, because — because of this stupid standing around part!

… Should I — nope, still a little tacky.

… So standing around naked, it’s dumb, just standing here.

… This colour, is it too dark?

… Is it — dammit. Five minutes, maybe, at the most.

…

… Oh, I did a crap job on my feet again.

… This colour, is it too orange?

… Is — dammit.

…

… Holy God, I can’t even believe I am doing this, just standing here. I should have brought the laptop in here and, I don’t know, it’s not like I can work or anything and —don’t move! The duvet cover! Not yours! The landlord’s! It’s white! Who buys white duvet covers? Rich people, that’s who! White stuff never comes clean properly in these little European machines! Even when I use those white sheet yokes that you put in with the wash! Crap, crap, did I — no, okay.

… Hate this.

… Is it — feck it, I don’t care.

Puts on loose black clothes; they feel a bit like they are sticking but could not be bothered at this stage. Fin.