Blackmail.

Nope, sorry, still haven't posted that entry. Why? I'll tell you why. I'm holding it HOSTAGE, that's why! Spooky green book people don't get blogged anymore until they either help me find a goddamn job or sell some of my stories or otherwise provide me with money! HAH!

(PS: no sneaky bumping off relatives so I get the insurance, oh the guilt, oh the irony. That gag's got whiskers on it.)



I'm kidding. I'll post the entry soon.

However, this is getting a bit ridiculous. I have now been sans gainful employment for over a year, and it's depressing me. There are things I would buy, like Photoshop and webspace and socks and a kettle and a toaster.

It's true. Not only do I have No Job, but I have no kettle. They don't like kettles in Spain, they all drink shedloads of coffee made in espresso pots. I have to use the metal jug thing for boiling up milk if I want a cup of tea; worse still, should I wish to make more than one mug of tea--say for myself and Mr Adjective Noun and any friends who may happen to drop by-- I needs must use the saucepan, which for some reason creates a nasty scummy foam on top of the tea. And not only do I have No Job and no kettle, I have no toaster. And since there's not a proper cooker in my flat, just a hot-plate, this means that I have no toast.

Ever.

No. Toast.

Yes, that's right. Laugh. Go ahead! Mock my miserable toastless state. Make merry over the SHATTERED RUIN that is my non-heated-bread-product-having life. One day, I will show you all. I will get a job! And I will get a kettle and a toaster! And as God is my witness, I will never go toastless again!