"Toucha Toucha Toucha Touch Me! I Wanna Feel Dirty . . ."

I've well neglected this blog!

I'm sat in my room in Aberdeen (yup ABER-fecking-DEEN) and Neil Diamond's just been on the radio and it sort of triggered my memory a wee bit and got me back to the blog.

It's only a quick one, 'cos its 2am and I've got the best part of a bottle of Vodka inside of me, but also cos I don't feel like I've a lot to say.

Except of course Summer 09 (best summer yet) is over and done with.

The weather up here's kinda been like a second summer but officially, the frivolities of freshers week have arrived.

With it though come the inevitable problems.

1) Freshers week doesn't give you a license to grope. If I wanted your hand there, I'd have put it there. Kindly remove it.

2) No, I do not want a shitty little card with info about a drinks offer at a shitty little club.

3) No I do not want a shitty little card with info about your shitty little mass, Father.

4) If you go out looking like that you will end up in a ditch. Underwear is meant to be UNDER your clothes love.

5) If you ring my doorbell at 5am and scurry back to your flat with the manliness of Christopher Biggles in a florist, I will hunt you down.

The twats in Block 44 Flat 202 should pay attention to 1 and 5 please. You've been warned.

So how the devil are you all??

Grandad? Shrew? All present and correct?

Guys, seriously, keep in touch.

The drama baton has been passed on to the sisterling, in spookily eery and deja-vu-esque circumstances. "There's this boy . . ." :S

Here we go again . . . Christ I hope not.