Because I have some sort of blatant deathwish, I spent most of today bowling with the guys for Chad's birthday, after an evening of football yesterday. Consequently, my ankle hurts and my thighs feel like they've been put through a clothes mangler. Exercise, therefore, is completely overrated, and so I advise that before you think of getting out and doing more, you do so gently and carefully, else you'll very nearly end up in casualty. Or something.
However, today was nonetheless pretty good fun, and was made a little more enjoyable by the postman delivering my contributor's copy of The Interpreter's House, in which my poem 'Being/Nothingness' was printed opposite a lovely piece by Jim C. Wilson, which nicely juxtaposed my work given its strength but completely different, colloquial style. Just because I want to blatantly plug my own work, then, and because Merryn Williams does such a brilliant job of editing and putting the magazine together, I'd suggest you visit www.interpretershouse.org.uk to order a copy of Issue 32 (or, if you're feeling ambitious, take out a subscription for only £10 for three issues).
What more to say? Gollins has decided, in all of his Cola-fuelled, bowling-drained glory, that it 'would be really cool if we all grew moustaches'. Yeah... right... Needless to say, I'm not convinced, but he seems hell-bent on trimming some handlebar style Magnum P.I. monstrosity onto his face. But then again, it worked for Super Mario, and nobody can really argue against Princess Peach being the hottest thing in Super Mario Land, but then the competition was never that stiff. Anyhow, I better finish this up, before this turns into some kind of early 90s style Gameboy rant. Long live The Legend of Zelda.
