WFL

It feels like life is returning to me, even though I'm physically sick at the time of writing this. My love and I are getting a cat in a few weeks, and I'm looking forward to that more than anything I've felt in a long time. Ever since I was a really young 'un, I've wanted a cat, but no way as I was allergic; still am, but we're getting a SPESHUL one that I'll do my best to stand, so hell yeah, a cat.

And I love how Bernard Butler slags all indie comebacks - probably mostly taking a swing at Blur - but that's OK, because he's producing Black Kids.

I'm thinking about entering a poetry slam contest. I've not written poetry in ages, since all I wrote since months back was stolen – at work. Sure, I'm an idiot for storing personal stuff at work, blardy-blah, but it was stolen and nothing else. Fucking. Weird. So my girlfriend and a friend sort of edged me on yesterday over coffee and I thought: yeah, a deadline is just the ticket man – why am I thinking of Spud from "Trainspotting" when writing that? you know - "A little speed is just the ticket, man" – and it might be fun. And it'll probably be better than most of what I've seen, or maybe I'm just under tons of hubris and should just shut the fawk up and do it. DO IIIT!

You don't have to shout at me!

I'm content. I feel happy. I want to make music and dance with my friends in a non-hippy way.

// N