Well I've already begun to think this section was a mistake. It was supposed to be written by someone other than me, someone with a less cynical view on the world and a little more forgiving to the rest of the populous and they're tall buildings of which seem to serve the same purpose as a hair trap on a shower drain.

Unfortunately I know we are a far cry from the, Range Rovers, Hugo Boss Suits and mobile phones we would like this world of silicone plenty to be.

This coming weekend will be drenched in booze and vomit, just as the last, surprisingly; it will be no more productive. I will try to manage to not only preserve a decent percentage of my wages, but actually concentrate on working out women, a lost cause. Women still remain as elusive to me as Lord Lucan. However, I've collected some stories of mild amusement concerning young ladies, but alas none of you will be privy to them.

Fear for your life. I urge anyone interested in crack cocaine, car theft, prostitution, or baseball bat conversations with lead pipes to hop on the first bus to the lovely real world and partake in some of the local flavor. I can only imagine the violence and looting that will ensue when the forgotten and desperate people catch wind that you consider yourself to be making any contribution, artistic or otherwise, to society beyond a trail of drool on the pavements of which you meander.

Days are finally blurring into one indistinguishable casserole. My character is wearing down to a dull point, like a pencil writing on a piece of sandpaper. My dislike of Roseanne, baked beans and cycling shorts however is still strong. I'll try and do you all a favor and get someone else to write this section in the future as I can only endeavor to bring you down. I hope that by giving my seat up to an old lady on a bus will save me from hell and Spin City re-runs.

Good luck Mickey Fox.