Procrastination and Jubilation

Procrastination: Because I should be scanning the company health and safety policy, putting a text box over the revision date '2010' which says the word '2011'. On 600 different pages. To save £600 English pounds. Doesn't help me in the search for a new job though does it, so fuck it.

Actually it's lunch. I've been hard at it. I just wanted to sound like a cool rebel.

Jubilation: Because my book arrived. It now means I have something to read that I want to read. It does take me a while to identify suitable reading material, but once I do I get properly stuck in. I've nearly finished Kenny Noye (not a footballer) but before that the last book I really got into was by the Welsh man mountain and born survivor John Hartson. He was quite famous for kicking Eyal Berkovich in the head at West Ham, and then getting brain cancer which he survived. I admire him.

I'm toying with the idea of crossing my comfort zone here on blip. You all believe me to be very candid and open, and perhaps to some I am. However despite appearances there are things I don't discuss and there is one thing I haven't blipped that I kinda might.

This is me suddenly becoming extremely vulnerable in my own head. You won't have spotted it, but on the right hand side of my neck I have a birthmark that runs from just behind my ear towards my shoulder blade. I don't talk about it at all because it's always been nothing to me. Last night for some reason I began to wonder if it affected m more than I thought.

I don't talk about it and I have edited it out of most of my photoshopped SP's. However I feel that I'd like to confront the whole 'taboo' I've built up around it. I dunno, maybe.

In other news I've blurred the focus a little around the edges here because I realised my Brantano shoes have quite a distinctive pattern on the sole - so distinctive that if I were to become a late night prowler I'd be caught quite quickly. I'm not too happy about that. It's scuppered my plans to irritate Peter Andre now. I was going to creep up to his house and tip Iron Filings all over his carpets and upholstery, and then steal all his magnets. Those little fuckers just won't go anywhere unless you have a magnet. Can you imagine how pissed off Andre would be?

Not half as pissed off as everytime I see his smarmy, sickly, false mug slapped all over my TV. I didn't buy a big TV for that twat to pretend to help people whilst trying to boost his career. You still married Jordan and for that Andre you will NEVER leave the twats gallery.

In even more other news check out the way the author of the book has described me on the back. How did he know I was going to buy it?