I've been awake for 34 hours and the walls are truly starting to crawl. I've been painting the rooms in one of the houses that my dad rents out, painting them bright white. I can now paint inside as well as out. But it is too depressing to paint inside. Only fun to paint out.

"Paisley, sometimes sleep-deprived dementia is mistaken for inspiration."

I go to Edinburgh on Monday, with the theatre and comedy and beer. Beer was yucky, then nice, then yucky, and is now nice again. Good beer.

Golden Ratio, Golden Rectangle, No More Bob.

Ian:  You weren't in, so I posted the CDs through your door.
Caleb:  Spectacular, me old mucker, spec-tac-u-lar.
Ian:  Yes, Mr. Caine.
Caleb:  After 24 straight hours of painting the same damn room white, with no sleep and only Dr Pepper and dodgy kebabs for sustenance, Caleb Newcastle morphs into...
Ian:  Dun Dun Daah!
Caleb:  ...Grand Battle Austin Powers' Dad Probe Droid Gold Alpha Fight!!!
Ian:  <cheesy gasp!>
Caleb:  Indeed! But, alas, I, Michael Caine, am so ashamed of the drivel that was Goldmember, that I, Sir Michael Caine, have quit acting and shall, hereafter, assume...
Ian:  Gulp! Assume what?
Caleb:  ...the identity of Caleb: House Painter Extraordinaire!  Goodbye, cruel world...  You forgot to blow the bloody doors off!
Caleb:  The End.
Ian:  Bravo!

Making up stories via text message takes far too long. Especially when you realise that all my parts had correct grammar, spelling et cetera. Too too long.

Bobdamn, it would be nice to have a girl to get sticky with tonight.

"Hi caleb i think we were in the same french class at gcse i used 2 sit behind u & richard howath."

Fuck that retarded text-speak. Write stinking haikus if you have to, but use whole words.

We are not hard candy love sweets.

Sisters and mother and brother have gone away for a week. I go away tomorrow. Father was meant to go with everyone else, oldest sister stay here, but he didn't want to go. Family breaking down, like back in '98. Yippee. But, this time, I know better than to express an opinion. Mummy and Daddy are adults now.

The bugs crawling over my face, the goldfish licking my ears? Not imagined, just too too hot and sticky icky.

Some of you got exam results a few days ago: A Levels and the like. Let me know how you did. Gareth? Vicky? Let me know how you did.

I harbour no great love for Apple Computer. Merely, I prefer their Mac OS X to every other operating system I have ever used (DOS, Windows, Linux, BeOS) and I can't imagine using a computer that does not run it. Which means Macs.

The text message, with the evil slang? That was what I talked about a couple of months ago: Someone I meant to talk to four years ago. Fuck it.

Golden Spirals, spirals within spirals.

I can finally get rid of this stinking 400MB install of Mac OS 9 that I have on my hard drive; finally found a native driver for my scanner. And used the cunning "application+serial" Google combination to make it go now.

Aargh, Jim Lad, Aargh! Shiver me timbers et cetera.

Keep forgetting which house I'm in, which direction I'm facing. South is West now? Crap...

Do *any* of you use Mac OS X? Want to go halves on 10.2 AKA Jaguar? I get Education Discount and everything.

I must remember to register for my course, else the college won't let me in. Remember remember.

Evelyn said she might make me a new space. That would be good.

35 hours.