So, I decided what I want on my gravestone:

"In extreme circumstances, the assailants can be stopped by removing the head or destroying the brain."

You know, just in case.


And in national news, that chick that Russel Brand joked about sleeping with to her grandfather on BBC2 Radio 2 (Georgina Baillie, the grandaughter of Andrew Sachs, a.k.a. Manuel from Fawlty Towers), has now done a kiss and tell. Surely that makes all complaints null and void? She also belongs to a burlesque dance troupe called 'Satanic Sluts'. I'm not making this up. And Jonathon Ross may lose his job over this. More eyerolling could not be affected than is right now.

Dead Set is amazing. It's Big Brother with zombies and everybody must watch it.

I had a dream once about the zombie apocalypse. It's the only dream I've ever had that has felt like it's lasted for days, which convinced me that it wasn't a dream and that life as I knew it really was over. But I lasted for days before I woke up, and even then I didn't wake up because I was eaten, it was just because my alarm went off. So I'm quite confident that when that day does come, I'll get by ok.

But I'm getting a little paranoid about it now, because I can't stop making mental preparations. I'm beginning to feel sure that there's going to be an outbreak while I'm in London.

Also, I just lost the game again damnit!

Lot of sleepless nights recently, and difficulty eating. Which if you knew me, would seriously worry you. And walking around with this big stupid smile plastered over my face, even though that's the reverse of how I should be reacting to. It can only end in trouble. But I'm chilling out maxin relaxin this week, gwanin off to meet some friends and catch up on old times, and seeing a band and stuff, not doing my homework or learning my songs. So should be a cool kinda week.

And finally, I decided that I want to be an astronaut. So you'll be hearing some more about that in the future I reckon