Why Do All My Trousers Have Holes in the Crotch? And Other Tales for Children
Now LiveJournal seems to have stuck up some device telling you exactly how long it's been since your last update. I GET THE HINT, LiveBASTARDS. I'm doin' it, I'm doin' it.

So what's happened since the last update? Gordon Brown is Prime Minister, summer has gone and hidden behind some rainclouds and several tramps have probably thrown up into their own hats. But what has happened that matters?

Firstly, excitingly, a comic from WFHIT was featured in the B3ta newsletter, which brought us some nice traffic and some pleasing remarks about our stuff. We are truly going up in the world! As long as by 'world', you mean 'internet'. And you have to assume a given meaning of 'up' including, but not restricted to, the terms 'mild gradient' and 'piffle'.

I've also been to the Science Museum with my friend Sally:


where we made lots of innuendos about the exhibits around small children, and probably ruined their a) days and b) innocence.

While walking back from a pub to hers, a group of approximately 20 young fellows made it apparent that they wished to have a physical altercation with us. As the group of us consisted of two ladies and two fellows, we took a look at the size of the muscles in our arms and decided to use the ones in our legs instead. This resulted in fewer bruises, and those that were sustained tended to be in the areas of pride and so forth. However, my head is a bit bumpy and painful on either side, and I think that you can see in that picture a slight lump on the side of my left eye. Still, since we managed to get away, I'm pretty sure we know who the victors were on that warm evening! Thanks, thighs!

Incidentally, I look knackered in that picture because I was knackered. Curse you, bags! You always turn up under my eyes like you were gum and my eyes were shoes!

I'm writing a new story, one which I think has genuine strength of originality and plot, but I'm just really rubbish at sitting down and making myself write. I've got all these great ideas and I occasionally create descriptions and scenes that I need to shoehorn in somewhere, but what I really need to do is force myself to work at it. However, the person who has to make myself do that is me, and I'm not well known for wanting to do work of any kind.

Speaking of which, we did the obligatory logsplitting again, from which I emerged £100, many log-puns and plenty of muck and grime the richer. Gosh, I hope that last sentence isn't too syntactically mangled to comprehend. I'm a little tired.

I lost a bunch of my music recently, but am making up for it by downloading it back and more. Thank RoboChrist for the internet! Provider of thieved dreams since the early 90s!

How are all of you, you scamps?