Not had a minute really. It’s been a mad few weeks. Work’s busy, which is great. But outside of work I feel like I’ve largely been drunk since the end of February. What with Six Nations frivolities with Jules, complete with the now infamous DonnchaPants; Paddy’s Day, Twestivals, Blog Awards, Leviathan, 30th Birthday parties, a visit from The Cousin & other random, impromptu nights out, my poor liver’s begun to audibly wince whenever boozing is mentioned.

I’m beginning to feel a bit frazzled to say the least. Not that it’ll stop me, I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Besides, the parents are over this weekend and there are more festivities planned for that. So, for now, I shall continue to burn the candle at both ends, like thus…

That’s a visual metaphor of me, burning the aforementioned candle, at both of the equally aforementioned, ends. NOT setting fire to my own farts. To be clear. I don’t do that, because, well, I’m, not four-fucking-teen for starters.

Don’t light your own farts kids. It’s not big, it’s not clever and there’s always the risk that if you try to hard to fart you’ll shart and then we’re in a whole other world of pain.

I’ve gone off on a tangent, but fuck it, my point stands. Whatever it was.