I’m selling nothing on Ebay:

Here.

I’m sure you’ll agree it’s worth having.

So I finally did my tax return. I’d been putting it off because I knew I wouldn’t be able to pay it. I was right:

Amount Due Now: £4,200
Bank Balance: £800

So now I just have to decide whether to default on the tax payment, or default on the rent. Decisions, decisions…

*bangs head*

R.I.P. U.S.A.

Well it didn’t take long to realise that Fotolog is slowly dying, so I deceided to write something…. better.

And here it is:

www.fotothing.com.

Feel free to take a look around, sign up and play. It’s free, and will remain so.

Dear Blog

I’m sorry I haven’t written to you sooner. However, I’m lazy. I’ve discovered I just don’t do writing.

So instead of keeping up the pretense that this blog is actually worth reading, I’ve decided to start a Flog instead.

http://www.fotolog.net/domramsey

Pictures are so much easier.

People often ask me “So what’s Finchley like then?”. Well… they don’t. But they might. If you’re thinking of asking what Finchley’s like, here’s a brief guide.

Finchley is divided into four sectors. Finchley Central (Capitol of Finchley), West Finchley (Retirementville), North Finchley (The Slums) and East Finchley (The Forgotten Realm). There used to be a South Finchley, however it broke away in the late 19th Century and renamed itself Hampstead Garden Suburb.

At the start of the 20th Century, a 15 foot high wall (The Great Wall of Barnet) was constructed around Finchley, in order to separate its residents from evil influences and any sense of reality.

The economy of Finchley is primarily fuelled by the 14 year old mini-skirt clad alcoholics who inhabit the bars and pubs of the North Finchley area. ‘Aftershock’ is the beverage of choice.

Adventurous Finchley residents occasionally venture to the cinema. Younger Finchlians can often be seen brawling outside the Vue cinema and “Hollywood Bowl”. Older residents are banished to The Phoenix in East Finchley’s OAP zone. Local laws prohibit anyone between the ages of 18 and 45 from leaving their houses.

Tourism is non existent. The odd uneducated American tourist comes to Finchley and finds there is no way out.

So that’s Finchley. Don’t come here.

I love my car.
I hate my car.

I don’t drive anywhere near enough to make having it worthwhile. It’s so much easier to jump on the Tube when you live in London. And apart from occasional trips to Oxford I don’t really need it.

Trouble is, if I don’t use it regularly, the battery dies about every six months. So every couple of days I have to drive somewhere I don’t really want to go. Or just sit in it with the engine running, polluting the world. And don’t get me started on the cost of insurance for having this shiny silver thing parked outside my house.

Sigh. Anyone wanna buy a 1995 Mitsubishi FTO?

Ok, so doing a site like this is really quite sad. And about 10 months out of date already. But I don’t care.

And I’m sure nobody will read this, but having some kind of blog might just give me an excuse to wake up in the mornings. So here it is.

Don’t kill me.