‘Thank fuck it’s Friday!’ Jamie muttered as she kicked off her shoes and collapsed backwards onto her double bed.
It had been a fuckin’ awful week, she thought, staring up at the high ceiling. Cock-ups left, right and fuckin’ centre.
DoSAC looks like a fuckin’ aeroplane hanger full of stiff dicks right now, she mused.
OK, she’d raised a smile walking past Malina’s office yesterday, she thought, when she overheard Mal tearing into Nick Murray:
‘An’ ye bombed at fuckin’ ‘Question Time’ again, didn’t ye?
Good job it’s nae fuckin’ December, ‘cause if it was I’d rip yer fuckin’ bollocks off, thread a decorative fuckin’ ribbon between ‘em and hang them on mai fuckin’ Christmas tree…’
Apart from that she hadn’t had a single fuckin’ laugh all week.
Terry had completely failed to stop the leak of Danielle Miller’s expense claim – fuck’s sake,
it was only thirty-one pounds eighty but the right-wing twats at the Mail had crucified the party in their Wednesday issue.
There was the aforementioned fuckin’ debacle at Question Time, when Peta Mannion had all but slaughtered that useless bastard Nick and nailed him to the door of Number 10.
And then, there had been the small matter of Olivia Reeder’s skirt. Otherwise known as the huge matter of Olivia Reeder’s tiny fuckin’ skirt. Jesus. That posh wee tart had some fuckin’ nerve.
Read the rest via the link in the description!