This morning while buttering some prawns and minding my own business, I had the privilege of being whacked on the arse. "HEY!" I yelped, as I clutched my surprised and mildly painful bottom. As it turns out, the fly everyone wanted dead had picked my l'arj-ass as its place of respite.

That's all. Back to Nom, Round 2! Hope y'all have an eventful and love-filled Christmas!

xx

When I say "recently", I actually mean "yesterday", and when I say "pleasure", I actually mean "misfortune".

And as for being a stuntman? What I really mean is that I was privy to the experience of crashing a bike straight into a tree. That shit's the stuff of movies, yo!

After ten years of inactivity, I whipped out my old bike and took it out for a spin. I may have learned the hard way that I couldn't actually brake. In the seconds before what could have been my untimely demise, I rationalised that the most appropriate way to stop without falling straight off the bike was to just to use a nearby tree as the break in momentum, as my barrier of sorts.

I went straight for that damn tree. I like to think of that decisive action as probably the only time I ever had some concrete direction in my life (pun intended).

Face is still same, average, puffy circumference. Spleen still in the correct place. I remain, for the most part, unscathed:

And that's all. Thought it was a story worth telling. Ho ho ho!