Saturday, May 03, 2003

Good Lord, another bank holiday weekend. Once again I find myself in my best trackie bottoms trying to clean the flat and being distracted by Kirsty's Home Videos.

Well, of course, it's been ever so long since the last blog update, and my life has been one long Martine McCutcheon song, obviously. I'm married now - who knew? Yep, the lovely Michael, who can be found at Gareth's Love Pavillion, has insanely consented to be my totally-not-grounded-in-law internet husband. I couldn't be prouder. Our children, Ainslie and Cheryl, are now as legit as they're ever likely to be. Try it for yourself!

And I've started yet another doomed campaign to get buff. Watch me fail - what fun! But seriously, I want tits like Josh Rafter's by the time I'm 24. So if I don't start going to the gym soon, the only other option is steroids.

My life is also being plagued by involuntary actions: flipping the bird whilst listening to No Good Advice by the mighty Girls Aloud, screaming "You rock KC!" at the TV when Mile High is on, and reciting the rap from Madonna's American Life, screaming "I'd like to express my extreme point of view/I'm not a Christian and I'm not a Jew" in such a way as will doubtless scare the neighbours.

Regular readers of this blog (i.e. me) will notice that I often consider myself a rather useless person. This was confirmed in irrefutable terms today when I managed to give myself a fat lip with a shopping trolley. This should not happen to a man of 22. Or me, for that matter.


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