Kick me in the Crab Hatch

Hello my little fuzz-lumplings, I trust you have been keeping well in my absence. I have. I got over my man-flu and huffiness and am back to my grumpy old self. With Pokemon cards. I have the best collection of them at playscheme now… if only I wasn’t one of the staff I’d be cool.

Well, the past two weeks have, true to form, been uneventful apart from having dinner with the girlfriend of a portugese rock star. That’s quite cool I suppose- living in Wales means I get to mix with all the hoy-paloy. I’m like the Beatles guru bloke whose name may or may not be spelt maharishi. If I’m wrong I don’t care. I’m sure Lianne will correct me. She’s like that.

I went to the pube quiz on tuesday and, after many a drink, staggered back to my homestead with one of my Welsh mates. We then proceded to smoke many ‘herbal’ cigarettes and had a long and complex discussion on the difficulties involved in the creation of maneuverable inter-stellar travel. That’s the problem with getting stoned when you’re a nerd- all hell breaks lose.

I’m sick of looking at my myspace friend requests. Everytime I go on there I have a request from Tits McGee, Horny O’Mara or Lady Pornington inviting me to ogle their more intimate parts on varios sites cunningly linked into myspace. I keep thinking people actually want to be my friend. Unless porn stars are people too and want my erratic friendship (as opposed to my erotic friendship I suppose…) from a hairy, hippy type child carer…

Anyway, as I’ve now had far too much coffee to the point that I’m having minor heart palpitations and chest pains I will bid thee adieu.

Tom

X

P.S. Carolyn, my American Love, wouldst thou mind e-mailing thy address and mobile phone number to me again- I seem to have misplaced the notepad I last wrote them on. I love you.