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I'm a mostly dreadful person, as well as being a mess of contradictions, army boots and adorable (possibly cat related) trinkets. For amusement I often embark upon vicious verbal attacks for no reason other than to keep my brain sharp and my wits witty.

I have a fondness for metal, rats, cats, art, computer games, piercings and tattoos. I write when I can be bothered (a given considering my degree is in Creative Writing), and read the rest of the time. When neither is occurring I can be found dyeing my hair a variety of unnatural shades, drawing or painting deformed crap, throwing shapes or getting merry on ginny ginny booze with my most excellent comrades. I still don't know my drinking limits, I'm a touch broken and have irrationality in spades. I'm not entirely sure why people actually put up with me, but I suspect it's something to do with being occasionally amusing. I can also cook and provide useful advice when not falling over/channeling the shrew/breaking down.

I alternate between being mentally 18 or 46 depending on the situation. I still believe that I really am 18 and this is all some form of horrible horrible dream.

Having moved to Manchester with naught but a dream and shining eyes, I have managed to lie my way into a rather horrifying little job that (after rent and council lulz) affords me slightly less than the dole per week. Oh, it is to laugh.

And what now for Sir Cherrylton Smythe? Mysteries are in short supply for the solving and it's just so damn hard to get the staff nowadays. Creativity is not in demand. Getting a little crunk and realising that my vocabulary and indeed intellect is on the wane (the two are not related, a mere byproduct of working in administration where the only challenge is convincing people to leave you alone)

Pondering whether moving again really would be putting all those ova in one wicker receptacle, or just something that I should do because I want to.

At present embarking upon stretching my ear to von, von inch.

Smoking far more than I should and being generally horrid. Drinking amounts of ginny booze and laughing like a raucous old queen. I will also correct any spare grammar that happens to be lying around and rant about minor things that nobody else really cares about.

Writing like a confused Victorian gentleman regardless of how appropriate it may be. Writing parodies for personal amusement. Drawing pictures that horrify even myself, and, judging by this profile, rambling in a barely coherent stream of consciousness manner.

EDITORS

• a-hoyhoy

That I'm lumbering about in gargantuan shoes and sporting a hair colour seldom found in nature. Currently we are seeing a revival of the Bettie fringe and black.

If is usually a matter of minutes before people are introduced to my foul mouth, cynicism and fondness for lengthy verbal sparring contests.

Like the huge pretentious fruit I am, I have obtained Eaters of the Dead purely because Crichton went and snuffed it, and I am fond of the Jurassic Park novels (facts be DAMNED).

This month sees the continuation of my fondness for detectoration, especially the adventures of Bryant and May alongside Renko and his zany Soviet "Well you hate me that's pretty clear where could our association take us next oh mercy me we seem to be in bed together" antics. Also reading The Thin Man, which is potentially damaging as I foresee myself whimsically trying to recreate the atmosphere of a Speakeasy.

I finished consuming World War Z a short time ago, and deem it to be made of Yes and God, as opposed to oh, say Titus Alone, which is made of Bad and No. Night Watch easily trumps all later Pratchett offerings. I'll read anything if it catches my fancy, mostly fantasy but I do enjoy some factual nonsense. The first two Gormenghast beasts, The Silence of the Lambs, most Discworld and The End of Alice are always en vogue. I'm also fond of the staple A Level texts A Clockwork Orange, Catch-22, 1984, Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre. I'll read anything once, maybe twice to make sure I like it.

My musical tastes are quite varied, encompassing the likes of Neurosis, My Dying Bride, Electric Wizard, Goatsnake, Godflesh, R.E.M, Sunn 0))), Satyricon, Sigur Ros, Nile, Swans, Fantômas, Godflesh, Diamanda Galas, Dead Can Dance and continuing on into the ether.
Currently pissing over Dead Can Dance and Swans, tune in next month for yet another genre shift.

Films are generally enjoyed and best watched whilst drinking, so that impromptu shot games might ensue. I will watch pretty much anything if it seems interesting, especially if it's dubbed. I've also started to increase my collection of shitty horror. Godspeed you, Vampire Killer Barbys! A list seems inevitable at this juncture. Fight Club, The Illusionist, Nekromantik 2, Clockwork Orange, Spirited Away, A Tale of Two Sisters, Audition, Ringu, Ju-on: The Grudge, The Silence of the Lambs, Battle Royale, 28 Days Later, Memento, Shaun of the Dead, One Hour Photo, Withnail & I, Girl, Interrupted, Dog Soldiers, Leon, R-Point, Les Visiteurs, Hot Fuzz, Dead Birds, The Eye, Stir Crazy, Blazing Saddles, Brazil, all Monty Python are but a few of the favoured viewings.

My beloved, the fellow Hamslayers, books, music, hinterwebland, hilarity

Why there are so many random coincidences going on around me right now.

I spend far too much time wondering whether certain people exist outside of you seeing them in supermarkets, or indeed whether it's the same demon, altering weight and face but evoking the same terror and revulsion across the land. We've all seen her. Eight spawn in tow and dog-end lodged behind one ear, greasy hair hanging in lank fronds, styled in the latest fashion with several cans of hairspray. Perhaps she'll be wearing startlingly large hoop earrings, perhaps she bears the mark of Tigger upon one meaty cankle. Hands weighted with sovereign rings she doles out alternate bellows and slaps as the hive rampage amongst the produce. Dead, shark eyes lacking focus as she trudges along the aisles, piling high the trolley with the finest Smart-Price/Value/Basics pap (now with extra sawdust), before blocking the till with her girth and filthy brood. She is the Hive Mother, born of the depths to challenge our concept of evolution.

Wait, what?

Grinning like a fool on the train in anticipation of seeing my cherished one.

Oh how we laughed as the ketchup compromised the remote.

You read books for pleasure and wish to talk about such activites, can comprehend the function of spell check, are not boring or indeed a cretin. "Looking for Friends" does not mean lol o hay people.