Back like a side of bacon baby

So, just a seven month break between blog entries... quite good going for me. I'm dreadful at commitment to any kind of activity, but writing diaries is the hardest thing for me. I aspire to it and think its admirable in anyone whatever they might be writing about - from the Samuel Peeps and Salam Paxs of the world right down to the rather disturbing Ex-Boyfriend Project... well, maybe not that one...

I feel the need to entertain inform and educate, and my friends and people I hassle on the street would say that I can do all those things, on a good day. I love blogs that can do all those things - excllent examples being Dibbie.com and Nice But Wrong. But most of the time I don't want to reflect on my daily thoughts and feelings. My internal landscape isn't a place I care to visit much. It's grey and dreary with the occasional random volcanic erutption... sort of like a cross between ancient Pompei and 'modern' Hull (the latter being quite a stretch of the imagination by itself).

So lets keep this lighthearted at least until I'm in a real stonk, or indeed a wotabarr (n. A mood or display of sullen aloofness or withdrawal: stayed home in a wotabarr; a case of the wotabarrs; Frank is in a wotabarr again). To this end, I learnt last week that mice can sing and that Freddie the hamster is being pimped out by a pet shop in Swansea. It's all good furry fun.