Friday Morning, Four Hours Until Dusk

We're going to the arboretum this afternoon. I want the weather to stay clear.

Kate has been visiting me for the week in hand. When she's here, I eat more food, get more sleep and am generally a more amicable person. Despite everyone else's up-the-stick noisy drunk drugs in folded paper and breaking the house apart craziness, I am a mossy little island of calm.

An island which has just realised that is is going to be a FUCK of a lot of work and time and money to get the magazine that I'm planning started. An island that is now a little fearful. The island grinds its teeth in its sleep with each tooth a tectonic plate filing away seismic enamel.

Truffle oil in your scrambled eggs = genius. I know I complain about being poor, and then the instant I get paid I waste my money on frivolities like the aforementioned truffle oil, Oxford shoes, banana milk, hair products, fresh limes and expensive smokes, but it's all in good fun, and you're only young once. I don't want your pity before next payday.

"It's too early to see cellulite, man." - Rory, watching This Morning.

"Go make me my dinner, I don't want to sleep with you." - Rory, two minutes later.