It's time to reach out and stop pretending...

Hello there, cruel world. I'm still here.

It's not that I haven't had anything to say - it's just that I haven't had the time to transfer those thoughts from my little brain synapses to my nervy bits, down my weirdly long neck, winding through the complicated sinews of the shoulder area, along my arms and out my fingertips onto keys that have seen better days.

When you think about it, it's a lengthy process - it's simply not for the faint-hearted. Just coming up with that sentence has cost me at least a piece of toast and a slurp of tea. Due to the unique way in which my body is funded...yeah, it's amazing how these things ever get done - what if your elbow gets closed for maintenance works? What happens then? It's not like they can have a diversion via your hip.

Me, I follow the same principle as London Underground, I close down on Saturdays. Nothing, nada, zippo. It may be a glorious thing to die for one's country, but having a good lie-in and a couple of DVDs on a Saturday morning must come in a close second.

I was involved in some sort of conversation the other day - I say involved, I mean I was there, perhaps not concentrating fully on the matters at hand. Someone mentioned Joe Bloggs - I thought 'does he? What's his URL?' I'm too funny to be cooped up in my head, it's wasted, it's a waste, it's a travesty, that's what it is.

Wasted. Like pearls among swine. Except that makes me both the pearl and the swine. That's about it, I'd say.