I'm bored.

And we all know how ugly that can get.

My friends have gone home. I'm sulking now. Sulky sulky sulk sulk.

Been on a big shutdown since the festivities, but the ol' writing on the wall says it's time to get back into the swing of things.

UJnconsciously, I've been stripping everything down: no frills, no adornments, just the bones of a life. Even my attire: the same black combat trews, the same t-shirt. No makeup. No jewellery apart from my labret. My hair allowed to grow in will-i-nill-i. Now I think it's time to start rebuilding: Spring is in the air, the trees are in blossom here in Spain (and have been for a couple of weeks).

The guides have been almost silent in my mind. I can feel them, though: waiting for the right moment. I need to get out there, out into the woods and the hills, out into the wild places. It is spring, and I begin again.

If the spooky perverts are listening, and they always are: I appreciate the break but I'd like to get a move on now. We were going great guns before Crimbo, and I think we should get back to it. Ready for the next stage!