The internet is a strange place. You neglect it for a few weeks, because you're a very busy man who has several jobs at once, a family to feed, awards to accept, friends to
take care of and lovers to teach. Then you come back to your so-called online diary and notice that all your little pics (icons, avatars, whatever you call them), well, all those pics that you scanned and resized and brightened in all those many long hours
when you told your wife you were working
are gone. Who wasn't asked? Me. As usual. The story of my life.
This is to tell you that I am doing okay. Thanks to all people out there who worried and sent me lovely fanmail (and asked me to join other online places, I feel very honoured, but as you can see, I can barely keep up with this one thing here). I tried to answer you all, but I had some trouble accessing my computer
Eve locked it down
, I think it was a virus or something. But it seems to be fixed so I'll try to be around whenever I get the chance.
What else happened? The usual. As you might've noticed, the Bond debate has come to an end. I don't really want to comment on this subject, since everybody knows I never cared about it, aye? But still, this is the most hilarious piece of shite I've read in a long time:'James Bond' bosses reportedly rejected 007 contender Ewan McGregor because he's "too short" to play the dashing spy. A leaked email allegedly says the 5ft 10 hunk was thought to be too little to play Bond, according to reports. The memo from Barbara Broccoli's Eon Productions also detailed why other stars in the running to play Bond were ruled out. It said 'X-Men' hunk Hugh Jackman was "too fey", while Irish hellraiser Colin Farrell was deemed to be "too sleazy". Eric Bana was written off as "not handsome enough".
Three tiny comments from me.
1. Craig is 5'11''. That is 1 inch. In words: ONE.
2. Poor Eric
. That's a fucked up thing to say.
3. No more Broccoli is going to be served in the McGregor mansion, ever. Clara will be happy.
But it really doesn't bother me at all. I'm fine, cheers. Apart from
the two weeks post-Bond-depression
that, I spent three or four days laughing about the rumour of Jude
going on a biketrip with Charley and I. Jude. In the wild. On a bike. For weeks without women, conditioner and the latest edition of GQ
. As if.
Now you know I'm still doing fine, no need to worry, aye? And if you'd excuse me, this bloody rabbit I gave Esther in a fit of fatherly love escaped yet again
. Guess who's going to catch it. "C'était your idea, Ewan, non?"