When it arrived, I read it, and it's turned out to be rather a lot shorter than I remember it, and a lot less impressive, on the whole. It's rather disjointed, and not a very satisfying read.

..Anyway, the point is that stuff always looks better through the rose-tinted glasses of memory. I guess that's why we all have such short memories. (myself in particular) Perhaps some sort of survival mechanism that makes us happier? Or maybe it's some sort of primitive reflex that allows old people to croak "in my day.." whenever you do something young and whippersnapper-ish.

Okay, obviously nobody is interested in reading the geriatric thoughts of a young whippersnapper like myself, so in typical teenage emo-kid fashion this sudden lack of self-esteem is the end of this entry.

P.S. Did you know that I told one of the salesmen at Courts that I was eighteen and he started asking me about JC and army?

P.P.S I was in India for a month recently. It was hot. Obligatory disclosure.

written at 1:51 a.m.