If I was a really moderate, peace loving Muslim, I would be just about ready to set fire to a whole bunch of people right now. Like, how much can one take? And since when was it in the interests of The News Of The World to report on the actual goings on of Her Majesty's Army? Don't celebrity coke busts usually belong on the front page? How loud can one say "hmmm?"
It is nice to be back, hmm? London is mild today, and I am in backwards world, having been active since 00:03 today. I washed up in my new flat for the first time. Felt good, bubba! I still have some clothes to put away, and have run out of room. I might have to give them to a charity shop. 'Tis from whence most of them came, anyway.
So, Johann Hari - me and Jeres' favourite columnist, who we both once thought to be a lesbrarian, and now know to be male, who looks about ten and seems to know just about everything - today breaks down the great fallacy of "love". Not the love I have for the world, but that Jane Austen love, that is said to exist between a man and a woman, for all eternity. Go read, and weep, suckers.
By the way, that beautiful youth up there is me, aged sixteen, on the way to the pub. At that point in life, I wasn't a huge fan of underwear, and had but two pairs of silk boxers, which I wore only on special occasions. That I am wearing the red ones, indicates I had a date, and a special one at that. Woo-hoo! Go sixteen year old soon-to-be-Don!
I wonder how he got on...