I think all my friends are ignoring me. It seems none of them actually want to pay £60 at the very least for the displeasure of a 7-hour train journey to Aberywtwyth to come and see me. It seems like none of us ever go out as a group anymore, just because we are in different parts of the country, or in some of our cases aren't even in the same country anymore. It's all just an excuse for people to avoid me.

To symbolise my misery I have written a poem, entitled "Today, I am feeling rather Brian". I can't actually be bothered to copy it here, but if you imagine 20 different metaphors for me cutting open my wrists and then sodimizing a giraffe, you should get the general idea.

My love life is also crap. Or at least it probably would be if I had one. In fact I am so upset about this, I am going to go now and put some glockenspiels on spikes.

But hey, don't worry about me, I have a puke inducing bottle of Bordeaux and a jar of relish to keep me company through these long and lonely nights in the middle of nowhere.

Currently listening to: Genesis - Back In N.Y.C

As I cuddled the porcupine
He said I had none to blame, but me.
Held my heart, deep in hair,
Time to shave, shave it off, it off.
No time for romantic escape,
When your fluffy heart is ready for rape. No!
Off we go.