Spring Cleaning

You'd think that being the child of a dad who throws nothing out and a mum who throws everything out, I would've inherited some nice, neutral balance of the spring-cleaning gene.

Of course not...

"Keep it!" Whispers the treasure-hoarder. "You never know when you might need those baby...teeth."

"Begone! Burn it all! One T-shirt could easily get you through the week anyway!" Shrieks my rutheless side.

You see the dilemma. There is no winning against the violent internal struggle that arises over whether or not to evict that squashed Fanta can. This is why my room always ends up looking like an asteroid collision. (The picture's not really my room. The real deal is much, much worse. I've decided to spare my family any photographic evidence in case they experience trauma from having to live under the same roof).

I guess I could try sticking everything in its place with super glue (which would also come in really handy during an earthquake) but that'd make getting the clothes off the hangers somewhat complicated.

What I need... is THIS!      

This super cool automatic-cleaning bike machine cool thing. Complete with a LIGHT BULB!

***

Heh. When viewed on an anticlockwise rotation, it looks like some kind of projector:

...Fancy that.

Blogging oblivion

I have been sitting in the deserts of Blogging Oblivion.

Just like this guy here, only I'm not a man and wouldn't have the guts to sit in the piping hot desert wearing a tux. Brave soul. How philisophical one must be in order to take photos of themselves in the thinking pose of all thinking poses. Probably pondering whether he could sell that chair on eBay for a bottle of water.
Anyway, you can only sit in the desert of blogging oblivion for so long before your butt starts to stick to the chair and you start to sweat so much that you eventually become an entire drowning ocean of imploded perspiration.
It's not a feeling one wants to experience.

Well, what I wanted to say was that I'm back.
Hi.