Moving

I have spent the past week living in the dark ages. Having moved all but a rucksack's worth of stuff back to my mum's I am relying on my decrepit made-for-Windows-95 brick of a laptop. I tried to access ebay last night. I think the auction ended before the page loaded, I dozed off.

The state of my room proves what others may have already suspected, that I am as a gas - I will always fill the space available. Even with Rod and Sam's help (Rod took about a quarter of the clothes I am leaving out for charity tomorrow and Sam managed to find one CD he liked out of my collection, Public Enemy if you're interested) I am still managing to make my room as cluttered as it was before.

I Know Where I Am

No. I am not trying to "find myself". I don't care if that's what British people do. I've never been into that. The biggest compliment Christoph ever gave me was saying that I wasn't very British. Not that I'm particularly ashamed to be British, but I know what he meant. And I'm sure you can find yourself in choosing between a bounty and a kitkat down the road, but I have never been interested in finding myself, and besides I already know that I hate bountys, I don't even need to go as far as down the road. I can't help wondering if the lady is protesting a little too much though.