I find tampons on the floor, do you? I also get pissed off when motherfuckers buy up Björk tickets and sell them on Ebay. I have nothing positive to say on the matter, so I’m going to iron my uniform and go to work. Grahfuck to it all!

Tomorrow I’m off to visit the wonderful foalface. I haven’t been swimming since the semi-disasterous holiday of 2001 and my fear of large areas of water has grown considerably since then. I’m sure I’ll manage it though. Other time shall be spent soaking up the rare British sun and singing along to songs from The Little Mermaid (this is what I do.)

As for the image above - I am still wading through a huge mass of Simone photos. There will be a series as soon as I am finished. Once again, thank you Doug.

No one can ever understand the concept of feeling uncomfortable in your own home until you have experienced having a lodger - or in my case, Ãœber Lodger From Hell. If I were to market my lodger and attempt to ship him off to a foreign household, these would be his top selling points:

• My lodger leaves the seat up when he pees - he also doesn’t flush it either, which can be a fruity surprise in a morning rush.

• He’ll neglect to call you by your name, and quite frequently call you by your gender (e.g - “Come over here, boy!”)
• Ãœber Lodger From Hell (ÃœLFH) will also eat large quantities of take away food, daily, so that you can watch him grow in size right before your eyes.
• This duper-caring cool guy will even neglect the fact that you have three small dogs that have already been run over once, and will leave the door wide open for this fun event to happen just again and again!
• Forget maturity! With your own ÃœLFH he’ll make any attempt to get you into trouble by telling on you to your local parent if you dare to say anything that closely resembles the ‘F’ word (but in fact, isn’t.)

So you know what? This is to you, über dickhead of the male species: flush the fucking toilet and get out of my face.

I am so slow sometimes at seeing good films. Monsters Inc. had me giggling at 3:30am this morning with the morning fairies. In other news I have recently been subjected to:

• Rules of Attraction - lots of sex, stereotypes and what I perceived as pathetic representations of teenage life. Thumbs down.

• Blue Crush - don’t even ask. I fell asleep through most of it (that one was just for you, Brighton Boy.
• Maid in Manhattan - OKOK. I must justify this! It is tradition for myself and the girls to see the worst movies around (previous experiences include Santa Clause 2 and About Schmidt).

Entirely unrelated - there is now an antiwar series available which were taken from March 21st/22nd.

Once again, the Alex series has been updated. There are now sixteen images - some have been removed and replaced. I am very proud of them, and Alex herself.

You know that saying, You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours? Well, tonight I waxed his ass and he waxed mine. Except mine is naturally better because I have a nicer bum, and now it’s smooth like silk. His bum is nice too, but it just doesn’t beat mine.

And in completely unrelated news, I developed a roll of film with Alex on. I’m delighted with the results.

“ThereÂ’s this lady that I see, but she doesnÂ’t see me. Today she wore high heels and short black trousers. She must be going some place nice, I thought. She puts her phone to the ear, so close that you can see the tumours growing – the thick bubbles of bodily tissue forming under her skin, latching on to her brain. Her face is a pale shade of white like a Geisha girl, except she doesnÂ’t have the seductive, chic element of an oriental girl. Her eyes stand boldly like GM goldfish. The white of her eyes are tainted by erupting vessels tearing down the holy white like nails on a blackboard. They bulge and move around in their sockets, embarking on a jaunt into optical space. The eyes dart around inside a cage, jiggling for freedom. ThereÂ’s this lady that I see, but she doesnÂ’t see me.

“She stood on the corner, legs wide open just like her mouth. The heels are thick, black and dirty with the colour of mud on the base. She clicks them together and then spreads them apart for her audience. Her mouth is always open, apart from when sheÂ’s smoking. She takes long drags on her cheap cigarettes. Her eyes always shoot down to her nose and further, watching the lighthouseÂ’s bulb grown brighter. The way she exhales the smoke is far from elegant as she blows it towards her feet, the earth, with her top lip masquerading its undercarriage. Her eyes – they wonÂ’t stop moving. The vessels erupt again. She has volcanic eyes. ThereÂ’s this lady that I see, but she doesnÂ’t see me.

“SheÂ’s walking up and down the bus station as if it were her kitchen. People bump into her constantly and a large black lady dappled in gold mutters bitch as she passes by my lady, elegance and all. This lady that I see has yellow teeth. She shows them off now and again when sheÂ’s talking on the phone – gritting them together, raising her lips and glaring at strangers. SheÂ’s wearing black today but last time it was rainbow pink. SheÂ’s shouting to her phone like a parent to a disobedient child. Fuck you, she screeches outside a charity shop. Its staff swivel their head and she growls back at them. I donÂ’t give a shit, she cries, they took my baby and I want her back. ThereÂ’s this lady that I see, but she doesnÂ’t see me.

“Her cheeks are sallow and her face is gaunt. I notice her legs are as thin as sticks, her arms too. The skin on her cheeks alternates between white and yellow in the dreary English sun, and I tell myself that either way, she still doesnÂ’t look much better. Her cheeks have such little skin that I expect theyÂ’ll poke right through any day. SheÂ’s pacing the bus station with this phone to her ear, and really, sheÂ’s all anyone can hear. When she speaks she does it with force. A bold F resonates in her stomach whilst the UCK clucks our into the air. SheÂ’s a picture of alliteration but slightly less poetic as she coos to her caller through radiowaves. She never cries, just screams, and I wonder where her baby is. Skinny legs, boney hands, crack addict they say, the women waiting for my bus. Please, she begs, I have to see my baby. Everyone is watching, all eyes on hers. Her volcano erupts, bleeding onto the sidewalk.

ThereÂ’s this lady that I see, but she never sees me.”

Holy Scabies

Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. The last three days have been perhaps the most bizarre of my life. Miss P bought a corset for £185 in a top quality whorehouse, I met a lady of much fetishness (”I like to go to fetish parties!”) dressed in a three piece leather spike suit (complete with strap-on cock), finally met up with Mr. Spencer and had my first successful indulgement of ecstacy. I am paying for it now as my feet feel like mushy peas and my body is one hundred percent crust.