You know your therapist is mean when his t-shirt reads: I’M SORRY, BUT YOU SEEM TO HAVE MISTAKEN ME FOR SOMEONE WHO GIVES A FLYING FUCK.

I’m paying £3 an hour, for this?

And his wall-plaque: YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE MAD TO OFFLOAD YOUR SHIT HERE…BUT IT HELPS.

I knocked his price down by agreeing to suckle on his nipple for fifty-five of our allotted sixty minutes. And I’m the one with mummy issues?

So yesterday I’m telling mummy, sorry, I’m telling my therapist that I don’t feel like I feel we’re making any progress. So he says, try offloading your shit in Queen Mob’s Teahouse.

So I’m Russell Bennetts and I’ll be writing about theology. Sorry, and what bars to boycott.