Saturday.

Awake to my ever increasing horror at Elliot's. Promptly decide not to wash and head up to Sainsburys to give Jess a piece of cake.
Soon after we find ourselves heading back down the hill with an 'Isotonic Ass' drink in each of our grubby paws, much to our distaste. Upon our frightful decision to travel to Falmouth by bus, we are greeted, after a draining wait, with a salivating hag at the wheel.
"Hey, erm how much is it to Falmouth?"
"Your on the wrong side of the street."
"Oh, can we not get on here?"
"Fuck off"
Proceed to cross the road and wait further. After a crippling thirty minutes, the speeding bus veers dangerously into view, along with the hag, dribbling like a bulldog on heat.
A sloppy hour journey to Falmouth later, an the greasy pair find themselves in Subway, desperate for nutrients. Nutrients; and friends, neither of which they will be getting anytime soon may I add.
Like a toddler, Elliot is left floundering with his card as he is told that the price is too low for it to be used. As he watched on with wild eyes, wild with fear, the woman suggested that he pay for mine too.
I don't think either of us could suppress the gags for long, and within ten minutes we had left, unsatisfied.
As I tore out seventy pounds from my account, I could almost hear the groans from the machine as in wained under the pressure of such a hefty withdrawal. A few minutes later and I'd left with my brand new, all singing, all dancing, shiny gold high-tops. I'm thoroughly impressed with them, and have posted a picture up for y'all.
I waved Elliot goodbye as he boarded another bus back to Truro, and the nights of two boys alone truly set in, hopefully with the result of death for one or more of them.