"Tell him I hope he has a fucking ugly Christmas."

I feel obliged to update with at least something but remembering what happened even five minutes ago proves difficult. There has been a crap patch lately but it's not worth going into. Plus it wouldn't be funny, even though it involved me being chased down the street at one point. But that has come and gone, thankfully. That's your lot.

Apparently I'm 18 now. Sammie and I ended up at the pub, only drinking things with funny names. Truly adults indeed.

College has felt a bit challenging as of late. My sculpture is laughable, and by that I mean people have laughed at it. Must improve on that.

Still no scanner, but the camera is in working order, so get ready for lots of photographs of scary clay-and-felt dollies I've taken to cobbling together.

I've been getting quite crap at socialising. There was once a time when I'd despair at having nothing to do, but I've been quite disorganized. Ali needs his birthday presents and Sam needs...well, a reply. Must improve on this also.

Oh dear, everything needs improving. It's not good, really. I've got a big backlog of books that need reading as well. Leisure activities shouldn't feel like they need organizing but you know how it is, never happy unless I stress myself out to the point of forming 3 bald patches.
(Only joking, I've only got the one.)

Yet saying all that, I've been ploughing right through "The Giles Wareing Haters' Club" by Tim Dowling since last night and am thoroughly enjoying it, despite the face there is no Dickensian patter or winged striped creatures lurking therein. I also recently finished "The Little Prince" in one go, it's just lovely.
Heed my book recommendations and you shall prosper.

Ugh, I'm going mad. I was like this at Sammie's the other night, laughing at anything and deliberately trying to give myself multiple chins by lying funny.

Watch this space, I might erupt.

I've not got a bald patch, by the way.