I really, honestly don’t use this blog enough. It’s got to the stage now where every time I write a blog post, there’s a new point release of WordPress which I’m being begged to upgrade to.

Anyway, back to using my blog. I’ve now moved out of Cambridge, and am residing at my parents’ house, but I haven’t so much moved in as dumped everything I own on my bedroom floor and picked bits out as required. On Thursday night I finished loading all of my stuff into my dad’s car (with the help of Dave), and cruised back to Tring to get completely off my tits. Moving out of a house is one of the most stressful things I’ve ever done, as well as tiring. It didn’t really put me in the best of moods for the start of my weekend.

So, on Friday morning, I picked up Lemming and we headed up to Edinburgh to see Ellie and Toby. They’re doing really well up there - they have a really nice flat a short jaunt from all the action, which, seeing as it was the start of the legendary Fringe that weekend, was pretty cool. Me, Toby, Lemming and Ned (Toby’s brother) went to see Ed Aczel doing one of the most peculiar stand-up performances I’ve ever witnessed, but one of the funniest. If you’re not familiar with his work, I strongly suggest you check him out.

On Sunday morning, feeling absolutely hideously ill, I hopped onto Facebook to see what was going down with my bre’ars. Before the next part of my story, I should provide you with a little context - for the previous 2 weeks I’d been getting increasingly close to a girl who I’d liked for a long time. Said girl, according to Facebook, had just started going out with someone else, after deciding I wasn’t really her type and not thinking it a good idea to let me know about it. Meanwhile, I had been slowly piling all of my proverbial eggs into a single, lonely, proverbial basket.

So, you can imagine the absolute joy I felt, when driving home on Sunday night, I looked in my rear mirror to see a police Volvo T5 flashing its blues at me and signalling me to pull over. Oh shit, I thought to myself, I was absolutely missioning it just then. Given that the national speed limit in Scotland, as it is in England, is 60mph, it seems that the police were none to happy with the fact that I’d done an average of 118.9mph across their well-placed trap on a beautiful straight on the A702, heading South. While what I had done usually carried a charge of dangerous driving, the officers who pulled me over in all their wisdom decided that I hadn’t actually been driving dangerously, just speeding.

As it currently stands, (and this is the pisstake), I am due to appear in court in Scotland, where I will most likely be disqualified from driving for 3-6 months, and receive a fine of several hundred pounds. All credit to Lemming from stopping me from completely losing it on the rest of the way home. Driving 300 miles when you’re pissed off and afraid of breaking the speed limit but desperate to get home is difficult unless you have someone to reassure you and play some phat jungle beats.

So, for the past 4 days (I think), I’ve been consistently alternating between being high as a kite, and working from home, with the company of various friends, mainly Farrar and Dave who’ve stopped me going completely nuts, as well as visits from others - notably Becci, who offered to help me tidy up the place (which ended up as her tidying up the place while I stood around being useless).

All in all, things haven’t been going that well for me, and they’ll probably get worse once I have to pick my parents up from the airport on Tuesday, when I have to explain to them why I need to go to Scotland again. But never mind, for I have my health and a nearly cheery demeanour, so I mustn’t complain.

Night night, chow heads!

A lot has happened in recent weeks/months/however long it has been since I last posted anything on here. For a start, as the result of a series of mistakes and trespasses of trust, I am now single, and have been for about 2 months now I think. It’s a long story, and if anybody particularly wants to hear it, they’ll have to buy me several beers and keep me company for an evening.

In other news, it’s almost a year now that I’ve been living in Cambridge and working for BWS, and in 3 weeks’ time I’ll be moving back to my parents’ house as my tenancy here expires. On that note, I need to throw a wicked party here before I go, and I’m shit at planning things, so if anybody has any ideas, lemme know. I’ll certainly be sad to leave here, I’ve had a hell of a good time, and have had the honour of meeting and working with some of the smartest and most fascinating people I’ve ever met.

While I don’t really like Cambridge all that much as a city - the abundance of cyclists and lack of good driving roads makes it a bad place for a petrolhead - I’ll certainly miss its quirks. I’ve had numerous good nights out here, and there are some excellent drinking establishments around, although unfortunately the sheer quantity means that there are a number of utter dives around, and living on the cheap side of town, it ultimately means that they seem to be in congregation around my house. Having said that, a 20 minute walk will have me in the centre of town where I know many a watering hole in which I’ve enjoyed many a libation.

The fact is, however, since I’ve broken up with Caley I’ve been bored out of my mind. Living with Chris is neither entertaining nor fresh-smelling, and when most of my work mates live a fair distance away, finding something to do in the evenings is pretty difficult. And, given my lack of enthusiasm to do anything except for sit around on messenger and Facebook drinking more beer than the NHS recommends (I mean seriously, 3-4 units a day is apparently a lot), finding a hobby is not something that I plan to do. So, in the meantime, I’ll keep writing this blog.

Over the past hour in which I’ve been slowly writing this, I’ve realised that this house is far from ideal for a party. It’s small, has limited sleeping room, and the kitchen is smaller than small. Still, given a bit of rearrangement, it could be a pretty nice pad. It just needs to have the area that Chris sits fumigated and shampooed, and we’re in business. And then febreezed. That stuff smells fantastic. Like parma violets!

Jetzt ist es eins Uhr, und ich dachte mir, “ich hab vor kurzem kein Deutsch gesprochen.”

I have changed. I really have. For the first time in my life I’m trying my hardest, and this time round I’m too quietly proud of my achievements to stop myself.