Well, it looks as though these blogs are still in action...and mine is slowly creeping to the bottom of the list, which won't do at all.

The OCD part of me is compulsively not replying (if you can be compulsively passive) because I want to keep my number of posts at 55; which is a nice number.
The slightly more normal part of me says that's just silly.

Bumblelion and I made it safely back to London on Monday evening; to be greeted by a very excited Pinkleberry, who had been waiting patiently inside his box for the entire month.

My body clock hasn't returned to normal yet (not that it ever was normal) so I'm now spending my time staying up stupidly late, sleeping in stupidly late, and then spending the day in an anxious frenzy, worrying about how I'm going to pay my rent this month.

Unfortunately my first impulse on returning to London was to head straight to Manolo Blahnik and buy myself a tasty new pair of shoes as a 'reward' (aka a feeble excuse to do something I shouldn't) for getting through Edinburgh. This is all very well, but I had cleverly budgeted that money as rent money - and I don't think my landlord accepts Manolos as payment (although he should - they're fucking amazing). My good friend Andrew O'Neill - the only person I know with even more of a shoe fetish than me - would definitely approve. They are possibly the best pair of shoes ever. And I have some fucking good shoes.

Eugh, there is a big pile of coffee sludge at the bottom of my cup. I just drank an entire cafetiere (from a cup though, not from the cafetiere - that would be weird). Blogs are strange. Why am I sitting at my computer writing an online diary about the sludge in the bottom of my cup of coffee?
I need to get a job.

Anyone got any jobs going? My skills include accurate spelling, an overactive imagination, and the ability to jabber on about nothing on a comedy website.

The time is 4.45pm
The day is Friday.
The month is September.
The year is 2006.
I am alive.

All of these things will change. But some sooner than others.

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