It's 23:49. I'm in my old room, surrounded by my puppetts and bookshelves. My bedroom is being pummelled from 3 sides by the wind. It sounds as if a Ghost is going 'BOO' into the windows - a garish white noise sound. I've completely lost my voice - the irony of getting the Flu before Duck Flu opens tomorrow is only mildly amusing. I've been sweating the fever out whilst listening to Stuart Goldsmith's Comedians podcast and rolling around on the floor doodling in one of the m
I missed yesterday's blog. Naughty me. The reason behind this is because I decided to up sticks and stay on the sofa of my longest and most detested best friend, Mick* (NAME CHANGED FOR PRIVACY REAONS :P ) . 7 years my senior, he's the step-brother I never had. We give eachother mutual love and contempt - my birthday card for his thirtieth was a giant moonpig card with the words I AM SO GLAD YOU ARE NOT DEAD YET emblazoned on it in pink. It's a wonderfully stable friendship.