As it turns out, those shaven pussy pictures (oh the search engine hits I'll get for that) constituted my 800th blog post, and I didn't even realise. Possibly because I was distracted by an e-mail I've just received through my website, which poses two important questions. The first is a simple "How u doing?", but the second is altogether deeper:

"I have moved here from a large town and I think this place is fucked up. U agree?"

Personally I think it's hard to say. It's true that the village has come out as homosexual in the past year, and there are a lot of hoes and hores in the area, not to mention talented playwrights. But I think I'd describe the place as loved up, rather than... um... anything else. Although it's true I'm trying to leave as soon as possible.

Anyway, the author of this e-mail concludes with a P.S.: "I am currently drunk so ignore the content of this Email". Which is great, because it means I don't have to reply. If only everyone who gets in touch could follow that example.

But back to his first question - "How u doing?". As it happens, I'm slightly frazzled at the moment, due to a triple-pronged attack of stress-inducing pressures (or a quadruple-pronged attack, if you count the fact that The Matrix clashed with Wife Swap last night, and I couldn't decide which one to watch). I've spent the bank holiday weekend attempting to create a 23-page website in 48 hours, due to the fact that I only had a 2-day subscription to Wordtracker, and I fundamentally objected to spending another £4.20 on a further 24 hours of keyword research. So I worked a 14 hour day on Sunday instead. (Isn't Sunday supposed to be a day of rest?). It made sense at the time.

Added to that is the fact that the purchase of my new flat in Brighton has unexpectedly stalled, and is currently threatening to fall through altogether. Meaning I'm all packed up with nowhere to go, and the Texas concert at the Brighton Centre on May 17th, which I naturally assumed would, by then, be taking place in my home town, now doesn't fit in with mine and Lisa's regular weekends together.

And neither does June 3rd, for which I also assumed I'd be living in Brighton. It wouldn't matter, were it not for the fact that I've had a secret 2-year anniversary surprise booked for June 3rd since the middle of February. Well, I say secret. It was a secret until Lisa suggested on Sunday night that we don't see each other on June 3rd, thus forcing me to reveal that I have plans.

Which brings me to stress-inducing attack number three: I'm being badgered on an hourly basis by an over-excited Lisa, desperate to know what we're doing on June 3rd. And I've got another month of this. I may have to stop answering the phone.