I read a Blandings novel, or a bit of Joyce if sleep elludes me.

Haha, at least you're not Australian, over here everything and everyone's at least fouteen hours away by car, usually more.

Once upon a time, it would have been The Pogue's 'Rainy Night in Soho', now though?

Hmm.

Deep Purple's 'Highway Star'

Oooh, I'm in Heaven again
I got everything
Like a moving ground
An open road
An' Everything.

Damn! England was lucky at the last tri-nations, that's all it was. Bloody luck!

Don't Stop - Rolling Stones

Don't stop, honey dawn't stop...

There's no school like the old school.

'S my pleasure, you're the picture of serene tranquility yourself. Keep the chin up, I'm sure you'll find a smelly layabout who'll make you happy.

Ah, there's just no knowing with some people Annet, I've been contacted by girls before and never heard back from them.

It's probably something that'll keep their therapists fat and sleek for years to come, but we'll never really know. Perhaps it's better not to.

Swings and roundabouts, as my father says.

The Great Wall of China?

Ah, OK, what's your access to literature like over there? Because there's a very good book by Stephen Fry called The Ode Less Travelled, which is to help people start writing poetry.

What style did you use and were there any writers who influenced you?

Do you have any of your work I can see?

One of the reasons why a lot of people stop writing is that it's difficult, very difficult and often very boring. I forget his name, but a man once said "I love writing before I start and when I finish, the rest of the time it's Hell." So when you stop it can be difficult to get your momentum back.

Another reason lots of people struggle is that they try to write before they've got their ideas sorted out. Most of my writing time is taken up by thinking and researching - knowledge is the seed of ideas. Perhaps instead of trying to write, you need to find something that you want to write about?

I hope that helps mate.

You're profile's fine, if I lived in England I'd be on the way (as in "Call the wife, tell 'er I'm ohn *THE* way) over to ask you out for brunch.

Love? Lie, more like!

No, I'm not bitter, there's not much positive feedback yet, but I'm only young...

Golly, you take much better care of your fridge than I do...

You complete your accounts and tax return.

Beer, mustard, beef and mixed salad ingredients.

No you're not dim, I just wasn't clear enough. Harris was in the play, but he was so drunk that he forgot, so he yells ****! when he realises he's meant to be on stage.

Haha, you're quite welcome to prefer Ferris Bueler, it had much better production value.

The late and lamented Richard Harris was notorious for his love of alcohol. One Saturday, during the hieght of the London theatre season, he took his friend A.P.Anderson, a recently arrived New Yorker, on a tour of the pubs of London; quite an undertaking.
They happily drank the day away until 9.30pm, when they were forcibly ejected from The Red Edward, a little tavern near the British Museum (where most of Africa is still housed). The two men had become so intoxicated that they weren't allowed in any of the pubs they came across and Anderson despaired, until Harris suggested that they go to the theatre; "There's girls and booze darling, and no nasty doormen!"
So they went to see Shakespeare's The Tempest.
It was a fine production, and twenty minutes in the stage lights dimmed for the set-change. Harris leaned over to Anderson and whispered, "You'll love this bit darling, it's wonderful. This is where I come on... Shiiiiit!"

I like to think of myself less as a scammer and more as a Foward Thinking Relationships Innovator.

How do you tell?

Welcome to the Australian quarter.