Perhaps it's just me, but after almost a week of wall-to-wall Harryonics, I woke up yesterday morning with what can only be described as PTSD (Post Traumatic Spare Disorder).The symptoms are unmistakable. I flinch every time I walk past a pub garden, haunted by visions of the young stallion vigorously servicing a sturdy bottom-slapping lady equestrian. Each time anyone mentions bridesmaids or dresses I get a ringing in the ears.I've also really gone off mushrooms and, for related reasons, tequila.
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