This afternoon I found myself on my hands and knees, scrubbing away at curry ingrained in the kitchen floor. Whilst in that slightly interesting of positions, I found myself looking up at the fridge, and reading the messages that have been left for me. And realising their importance.

Yup, Fridge Poetry. One of my finer investments. It's always lovely to skulk into the kitchen before you're fully awake, searching for caffeine whilst semi-conscious, only to find "I am a shaven slut" written on your fridge as you reach towards it for milk.

And on the subject of milk... "careless breast milk and pea stew" was one of the more abstract phrases on the fridge. Is it marketed at children or adults? Would it be some kind of jarred baby food? And how is it careless? Was there a spillage of breast milk and pea stew? Or was it meant to be simply pea stew, until there was a spillage?

For a while, I used to leave collections of three words on the fridge, for people to make into sentences. "soup, pubic, eye" was one such selection. It was decided that "pubic eye soup" was sufficiently entertaining as a sentence of it's own without the need for any other linguistic ingredients to be added. Is it some kind of bean?

"mistress spider offer expensive temptation to virile Harry Potter"

Mistress Spider. I'm sure that most people seek for their dominatrixes to be slightly frightening, but really. There was a spider in our hallway last night. It had an arse as big as mine, and when it moved me and my flatmate both ran away screaming (oddly enough, both into the wrong persons bedroom)... and she's the one that usually "frees" the spiders when I run out the house screaming. I couldn't even lure the cat in to come in and eat it. Not that he would. He doesn't even know what he's supposed to do with a moth when he's actually got it under his paw. I was struck with a moments inspiration while at the window, shouting for the cat... his scratching post is heavy, with a large, flat bottom (a bit like me) and a post-like bit, meaning I could drop it on the spider from quite a distance. So I did. My flatmate then hoovered up the corpse. Which was quite impressive given the size of it. Before being reduced to only two dimensions by a feline accessory I thought we'd need to construct a coffin to get it out the door. It was huge.

And, surely, Harry Potter would be the least sensible of all teenage boys on the planet to attempt to seduce, given how little interest he's showing in sex as he plods through his teenage years. He turned 11 near the start of the first book. By that age I was halfway through the longest lasting relationship I've ever had (two years)(isn't that just fucking tragic?), and I was on a mission to be as slutty as possible (insecure? Moi?). I suspect Mistress Spider isn't the greatest of earners in her chosen profession.

"never bugger wild mice"

Useful piece of advice. "Never bugger wild cats" I think would be more fitting for this house. My flatmates cat keeps trying to bring his boyfriends home. The one on Monday night resulted in me getting locked in the flat on Tuesday morning, after I was trying to get him out of the house, and managed to leave my keys on the outside of our flat door in the entrance hall. The flat door between me and the keys which my flatmate locks on her way to work in the mornings. That was fun.

"she put a toothbrush up his bottom with a rubber hand"

A dentists surgery I wish to steer clear of.

"saucy slave Howard has a whopper in his trousers"

Burger King's new ad campaign. Just don't ask for mayonnaise.

And, a slogan to go with Burger King's new side order: "enjoy pickled vagina you kinky brunette tart"

"experience hairless crumpet"

An invitation from the shaven slut? Or just a reminder to stop shaving my legs next to the bread bin?