Welcome to Feel Goodish Friday where I am feeling decidedly ish about my face.

Earlier today when I was on the loo I put my phone on the floor in front of me and it accidentally switched open the camera which was in selfie mode (obvs) and when I saw my face I was immediately faced (BOOM) with the brutal reality of what happens to it when I bend over.

Gravity, folks.

This may seem a trivial concern to you but please remember that I may at some point in the future be faced (BOOM-BOOM) with the reality of an actual human fella who might be so kind as to tolerate sleeping with me and I need to bear in mind what happens to my face if I were to ever to, y’know, assume a position where he will faced (BOOM-BOOM-BOOM) with the reality of what happens to my face when viewed from below.

Unless I pull an expression like the one in the pic which makes me look kinda surprised and not in a sexy ‘wow, hello’ way but more of a horrified ‘what-on-earth?’ which may well be the emotion I’m experiencing but it’s a bit impolite to show it on your face.

The lesson: keep looking up.

There has been only one thing happening in the world this week which has made me feel goodish:

David Cameron has been swimming in actual shit. There he was, strutting about on a beach in Cornwall in a wetsuit (there are very few fellas over forty who can rock a wetsuit and Dave isn’t one of them) tearing into the sea with his mid-life crisis surfboard, completely failing to spot the sign saying the water was polluted with pure, undiluted, untreated human shit. I cannot explain the smile this brought to my face, which from below became a horror-show of deformed cheeks.

The second lesson: don’t smile when you’re on top.

The award for Outstanding Public Feel Goodishness this week goes to: left-wing journalist Owen Jones, whose response to landing the show of sacked Katie Hopkins on LBC radio was to take a pic of himself with a glass of water, ‘drinking the tears of her fans’. His appointment is on a par with that time in Prisoner Cell Block H when Queen Bea was sent back to Wentworth and swiftly unseated Top-Dog Franky. Satisfying.

The award for Outstanding Private Feel Goodishness goes to: my local community Facebook page which has brought so much joy to my everyday this week. The climax was reached earlier today when a local resident posted (and I am NOT making this up):

“Beware of a rogue man pretending to sell fish as an excuse to have a nosy around your garden. Some guy just robbed 30 apples off my tree, just as they were getting ripe for eating. Gutted šŸ˜­”

This tale raises more questions than the Brexit negotiations. Why fish? Why apples? Why did she need to let him into her garden in order to receive fish? How did she know she had precisely 30 apples? Why did he want 30 apples? Does he only pretend to sell fish to people who have apple trees or would a plum tree do?

Ah, life brings us such wondrously peculiar incidents.

As long as you keep looking up.

See you Monday šŸ’‹