Moving Right Along

Well, the changes taking place on the site recently have been concentrated in other areas, most notably my decision to get of my arse and try to give something back to the drum n bass community, after years of doing little other than insinuating they shop on the brown side of the street, if you hear what I'm saying. Anyhow, this is all very nice, and hopefully Matt's disk space won't dry up as fast as an atmospheric junglist's grip on heterosexuality.

Recently, I've lent some advice to a few friends of the lovely Liz's about a fiction / journalism site they're thinking about starting. This is quite odd, and seems to imply that I know something about a)website design, b)fiction, c)journalism and indeed d)anything, really. This entire escapade is kinda like when you ask somebody directions on the street persistently and they eventually give you directions with a sudden look of intense clarity that that's exactly where they want you to go. You then walk half a mile in the wrong direction until you realise they've just given you the heave-ho cause you were in their face, and in fact, they're a Swedish tourist and of no use to you in the Australian Outback. This isn't true of my story, but anyone that's met me knows how hard I find it to give up on a metaphor once I've got going. So I wish them the best of luck, obviously.

The big news just now is that I'm moving in with Liz. This may seem a little exreme given that we've known each other a little shy of five weeks now, but if you take a look at the length of time it takes most of my kiwi mates in London to move in with their partners, I'm kinda taking it slow here.

Typical New Zealanders in London:

"Hi, I'm Mike."
"Hi, Mike, I'm Sharon."
"How are you finding London?"
"Fun. You know, before I came here, everyone said 'don't do what everyone else does and go there and become a drug fiend'"
"Yeah, I always said I wouldn't do that, too."
[Mike puts credit card aside and looks round to check the bathroom door is locked. It is.]
"Expensive though, eh?"
"Yeah. Wanna move in and split rent?"
"Yeah. Should probably shag first to make it look good."
"Yup."
[Checks bathroom door again, still locked. Tests strength of bath and, satisfied, removes trousers.]

Having said that, I'm doing this for all the right reasons. Liz is currently burning most of her posessions and making room for all my shit. This has included the sorrowful parting of the ways with the buggered wicker chair, the huge, uncontrollably promiscuous plant at the foot of the bed, [hopefully] some of the rock collection* and, thank God, the entirety of the plastic bag colony which was shoring up the north west corner of the room.** I have a nasty feeling some of my toys will get relegated to never-never land, but not my bloody mandarin Spawn, I can tell you that.

So all very happy.

The comic project is still coming along, and I'm almost at the point where I feel I've developed the world enough in my head that it's time for a proper plot. Apologies to Greg for not getting the scanned images to him, but one of the reasons I'm quite glad about moving out of my current flat (as well as being legally male again) is that about three months ago, my mail started taking ludicrous lengths of time to make it to my front door. Items sent from the States which should have taken a week have been taking six and seven. The cd with the scans on it was sent to me *inside London* and hasn't made it to my place within three weeks yet. I'm seriously thinking something's up.

Right, that's me for now. Have a happy day, and if you're in need of musical inspiration, do go check out some of the mixes in the new section. Lovely stuff.

* As I mentioned to Liz, a rock collection is a bad sign. It's a sign that somebody's going to collect *anything*

* See???