I don't know how or when it happened, but at some point this year I've become terribly, terribly boring. It's only just past seven and I'm in slippers and a fluffy robe. Why did this happen to me? Eat, read, study, eat, internet, eat, internet, (robe) sleep. "Partying", something I've heard others mention, is not a concept I'm familiar with. So, if you know me, a warning: probably let me go as a friend. All I talk about these days is new ways of making good pizza dough, how the weather is too shitty to allow clothes to dry and so forth. GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN. My current state makes me fondly yearn for being sixteen, when drinking was exciting and going to an all-ages gig at Creation on a Friday night was likely to be the highlight of the month. And being sixteen was fucking dire: I was a greasy-haired, self loathing bastard. Routine, that's my problem. Someone put an end to this. Buy me a ticket to Spain. Make me join the Exclusive Bretheren. ANYTHING.