Good crikey man! how long has it been? Long enough for my appearance to change quite significantly... long enough for me to have formed new and bizarre plans, which no doubt shall soon manifest themselves... long enough for me to have become unsuccessfully booze-free... long enough, indeed, for the heat death of the universe and our subsequent evaporation into subatomic particles...

And apparently long enough for me to have undergone the full horror of REGULAR EMPLOYMENT! i.e.:

Picture the scene, there I sit, upon my lofty pedestal (for my job consists of much sitting), watching small children and elderly gentlemen (for my job also consists of much watching) in a large, hot, wet room. Yes, I'm there, I'm sitting, and I'm bored. I try holding my breath for as long as possible. I manage a minute and a half. i pass out for a couple of seconds. Apart from being potentially lethal, being unconscious on the job can also get you fired. I seek alternate forms of entertainment...

Wondering how many cubic litres of water was contained within the room was my next mistake. I realised what I'd done as soon as I asked myself the question. Panicking, knowing deep down that there is now no way out of the trap that I have blundered headlong into, i try to force my mind to wander: Kittens... pomegranates... cubiclitresofwater... rich tea biscuits... tea... liquid... water... cubiclitresofwater AAAARRGH!! My mind, like an incompetantly programmed computer, will not rest until it knows the answer! After fifteen minutes, a hand coated in mathematical symbols, and mild ink poisoning, the solution presents itself to me: 'Your mum'. Arse. Must have forgotten to carry the 1. College + not attending = brain + soft + squishy

I turn my attention to the wall opposite me. the tempting wall, with its many bricks, just waiting to be counted... Waaait... counting bricks? How passé. Although... if you kind of squint and tilt your head 60 degrees to the left, that shapely section of mould looks a little like...

426 various animals, characters and Norse gods later, I am suddenly and rudely shaken out of my trance. The room is in a state of chaos... small children have formed miniature gangs which are now leaving wanton trails of destruction in their various wakes. An alarm is blaring, red lights are flashing, and a female voice over the PA serenely says 'Bing Bong. Clear up in sector seven. That's a four-oh-nine in sector seven, thank you'.

Don't be creative on the job kids... Remember... active imaginations cost lives.

So how are you?

And what was the point of that journal?

Entertain me with answers on an obscene postcard.