Back to Work

Dear Diary,

I'm back to the gig this morning, heading home after a hazy humorous catch-up with Conan and company. This mornings stroll into the town centre I scented the acrid smell of burning plastic and can hear the ringing of church bells - Camponology.

I am yearning to get back home, am looking forward to finishing up this gig, and getting back on the flex. My mission is also to get Contexts (Book II) fully finished before next weeks field trip, classes. The group work wiki-quicky might be alright.

The time is passing slowly, and t'will be nice to get a rowly, a quiet pint on the house in the bar, I hope Gullivers' banjo, will steal tonights show, and we'll form a new band who'll go far; but I won't hold my breath, though Bluegrass is the best, Gulliver's playing is mustard I hear, with reputation so good, I hope that we could, consume southern-fried pickin' and beer.

The hits on my page have dropped sharply, which oddly is a good thing. The reason could be down to the new æsthetic, but is more likely to do with the mud-slinging match ending. Ahh. Peace. Quiet stillness and humility,

On the Flex,

Maxx.