I have over 100 partial blog posts and ideas in my drafts folder. Occasionally, when there is nothing to complain about (which, to be honest, isn’t very often) I go in, have a poke around and rescue something.
Yesterday I found this one from 2008, which I will now publish exactly as it appears in my drafts – holes, spaces, partial ideas, incomplete sentences and all. And please excuse the cliffhanger, because I completely forget what happened next.
Alright then, I’ve been moping around for long enough. Time to get my head out of my arse and shake off the ennui
And so I have decided to cure my various French disesases of the soul by the simplest of **procedures** – let’s go fucking shopping.
So I needed a new style, quite simply. I am not (nor ever was, actually) a spring chicken so I feel it is time to get out there and get it on, old school.
Yes, we’re talking shirts that cost more than a night out. Yes, we are talking black shoes with tiny laces, so shiny that you could use them to send signals to the moon. Yes we are talking
And today, at my very first attempt at wearing this new style in public, the following happened:
Sucks, doesn’t it?