Thursday, July 22, 2004

Mike and the Mechanics are RUBBISH

I haven't touched this journal in a while. One reason for not touching it could be that the journal of which I speak, this journal, is not necessarily a tangible thing. It exists in the world of the internet; as a tiny group of files on a big, ugly server. I suppose you might be able to touch those particular files if you smashed the hard drive into tiny little pieces and ran them through your hands, but I think we can all agree on how silly that would be. Anyway, what I meant was that I haven't updated it. The journal that is, not the soon to be smashed-up hard drive on which it is stored. In fact, I remember deleting all of my old entries back when I had a brief bout of paranoia - I certainly don't want "the man" perusing my personal posts, and as such I am being very careful not to reveal too much about myself.

The deleted posts spanned a few weeks of my youth, where a 16 year old James Ellison innocently attended a McDonald's Business Studies seminar at the local hotel. Little did he know that he was to be catapulted into a highly bracing adventure involving a stolen box of biscuits, a broken piano and a squad of seminar-skipping students. Unfortunately, this detective had to close that case with a less than satisfactory conclusion, and to this day I still grimace when it pops up in everyday conversation. I only hope that the perpetrator choked on a Custard Cream or got Bourbon crumbs all over his bed.

There you go! I completed my first few awkward paragraphs, with the obligatory horrible attempts at humour and all. Further posts will no doubt be self-indulgent personal ramblings, with even more obligatory horrible attempts at humour (O-HAH!s).

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