Sometimes you can tell when something’s not going to last long. And I can tell that this blog entry is going to be a fairly short one. I don’t think my heart’s in it today. Not that my enthusiasm for doing this site is waning, oh no.

But it is slightly worrying to me as I have been recently germinating the seed of a novel which I one day aspire to write. Hopefully such a project would have me creating a bit more literary staidness and profundity than I often expose here, but regardless I intend it to be a means to catharsis rather than a shot at a publishing deal. I have been serenely researching said book and penning tit bits of short stories.

Yet all the catharses I need have been provided to me via the website you witness before you now. So to find myself struggling with a lack of enthusiasm to write a simple and short blog entry now doesn’t bode well for the endeavour I hope to undertake. I must therefore ask myself the difficult questions.

Like most author-hopefuls, will I only succeed in creating an unfinished oeuvre (fucking good word that)? Will I pass through my 30th birthday and onwards through my 40th and 50th occasions saying to myself “I really must get round to writing that book”?

Anyway as I quickly realise that this isn’t in the remotest bit interesting to read, I sign off.


But not before I mention that it worked!

My theory that if you wear ridiculous looking clothes around the streets of Soho for long enough you will start a new fashion is true!

Eighteen months ago I got fed up with my jeans that had folded up bits at the bottom of the legs. Basically I kept getting this feeling that I was wearing wellington boots. So I cut the back bit off the fold up bit and just left a bit of a flap at the front.

And today on the way back from work I walked past a shop on Carnaby Street not 30 yards from my place of work and lo and behold their shop window were displaying my very distinctive style of trousers.

So I’ll have to stop wearing ‘em now; as I’ll soon look like every other sad fashion-victim with stupid eighties hair and an inability to find some style away from the herd.

These eighties hairstyles by the way – and this is my last thought on these sorts of matters – are just a way for hairdressers to give their customers really bad and uneven cuts and actually receive a bigger tip for it.

Unbelievable! The perfect industry stitch-up job. I suppose they should be congratulated for stealing from the pockets of the gullible.

Style: yes. Fashion: no. Looking cool without needing to be shown first is clearly a superior state of being.

I thank you.


Create your own South Park character.