Busy, busy, busy. I think I've told you this before. All my own fault, really. If I didn't keep having ideas and try to turn them into reality, I could sloth out on my fat arse all day.
If only I could turn my ideas into realty. Then I could fulfill my dream: stop working. The day job thing, I mean. I'd still be working away on "your own shit" as Dolores calls it.
With a book I need to finish sharpish and a trip to Berlin next week, I need to fill this blog up with some filler fluff. Sorry about that. But my irrational desire to keep up my record of posting every day comes above writing anything meaningful or useful. But, hey, that doesn't stop lots of other bloggers and twitterers.
Now I'm only working 90% and have every other Friday off, I can got on with stuff I can't be arsed with in the evening. Like scanning shit. Yesterday I finally got around to the pile of beer labels on my desk. Very satisfying it was to get the buggers processed.
Right. Need to start cooking. Pretty label time.
Old Friends: Starr Hill Northern Lights - Many moons ago, when Fuggled was in its infancy, Mrs Velkyal and I were still living in Prague, and a night out on the lash didn't cost me an arm and leg, ...
2 hours ago