Ever had one of those days where you've got a head full of stuff and no coherent method of laying it down in lines on a page? One of those days when you've seen so much and heard so much and done so much that it all jostles for pride of place in your creative poured-puddle? One of those days where you want to write something interesting, exciting, elegant and eloquent, but, inexplicably, it all escapes you?
Yeah. Me too. Today I have nothing to say. It has to be a first, doesn't it? Or, I should say, I have too much to say and no words to say it. I want to talk about the Chilean Miners (the capitalisation is now justified, for they are super-heroes, aren't they?), the Liverpool Football Club sale thing, the fact that Margaret "The Actual Devil" Thatcher has had to miss her own 85th Birthday Party - thrown for her by David "The Actual Devil's Spawn" Cameron - because she's got flu (good). I would like to talk about something very, very exciting that I (may) have in the pipeline for this very blog. But I can't. My fingers are cold. My computer is making funny noises. And I have fucking writer's block. Sorry to waste your time... Please come back soon for a proper post.