Do you remember when we drove along Kingsway A259, and we listened to Casey's Song, and the windows where covered in condensation, and the sat nav spoke French. And how we sat in your car for an hour or so, reading and rereading contracts. And the traffic lights on the highstreet by the furniture store, and something with the name Sun?

I have often felt the need to write without the guise of a character, as myself. A young man in his twenties, with two degrees (pending). Perhaps one of the reasons that I have not done this is that so much of myself goes into ABristolNovella anyway, the two are the same - or were.

However I'm starting to feel we are drifting apart, and as my time in Bristol draws to an end, and I begin to slowly withdraw from my Bristolian life, there are so many things I want to document, which I feel like I can no longer do whilst I'm (pretending to be) a preppy stuck up twat. So many things that I want to record, for myself, and what has happened in the four years since I moved here.

And this is something that might not take off, maybe just writing this is enough for me to tell you, I'm not a total dick head.

You're standing over the hob when I walk in. And I put my arms around your waist and pull you into me, your neck against my lips and kiss you

At 1923 I'm dropped at a service station somewhere between junction 27 and junction 17 of the M5.

Who still reads this?

So I haven't been around for ages, but that's what I do. I drop in and out of peoples lives, and as far as I'm concerned that's what everyone does, I'm just more open about it. Except it usually only works if you have a few stable permanents - I no longer have this.