mirrorshard: (Default)
[personal profile] mirrorshard
Or, our Old Friend the Unreliable Narrator says Hi. He is your Old Friend too, right? I'd hate to think anyone of the calibre and distinction to be reading this journal wouldn't know him well already.



See, we already have one mutual friend - aren't we getting on famously? ...No? I assure you, the paparazzi will be turning up any minute now. I booked them weeks ago. (You really can book paparazzi, you know - agencies have specialist acts on their books who will do everything the paparazzi do. Apart from killing blonde princesses in car crashes, but that may be because the supply of blonde princesses is running a little low. They're an endangered species these days, and airport baggage handlers regularly find and confiscate sequinned blue dresses from the false-bottomed suitcases of sweaty nervous businessmen.)

I've been adding a fair few people to my friends list recently, and it occurred to me that it might prove useful, or at least entertaining, for me to give an introduction to my part of the playground. Presumptuous, I know, but then so is the assumption that anyone I don't already know reads this, and I may as well pretend that my text is a real object. (Yes, yes, paging M'sieur Baudrillard on the unrealistically glossy courtesy phone, and all that.)

So, let's begin more or less in the middle, with your gracious host. I'm nothing special, in a whole host of different fields, and at the time of writing mostly incapacitated by depression and lack of confidence. Or was that competence? I always get those two mixed up. Anyway. I was born in a blizzard on Easter Saturday, in the year of the Silver Jubilee, and spent a few years doing all the normal things one does in those years. I had a great many books, but no television, and no pony till quite a bit later in life.

Right now, I spend too much time on the Internet, doing nothing very constructive, and try to learn to code. Sometimes I stop and paint or read, and if I'm feeling enthusiastic I'll attempt to cook.

This isn't a diary, except when I happen to feel like it. Mostly it's just for me to show off random interesting things, or to ramble, or whinge. Other than that, I'll let the text speak for itself, and all that jazz.
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