Monthly Archives: January 2015

Less Alan Rickman, more Jane Birkin

What a flabby, pimply, listless mess I’ve become these past few months. So laborious is the prospect of writing, that my muscles have deteriorated into rolls of useless wobbly flesh. When will this treacle-filled trouser sensation wear off so that I might become the spritely vessel of productive exuberance I so long for? But it’s […]