45High Wycombe, United Kingdom
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My self-summary
Not looking. Well I'm not looking for That, anyway.
That. Thingy. Wossname. You know. I'm not looking for it.

Still up for a chat however. No man is an island and all that. Shame, because then a person with dissociative personality disorder would in effect become an archipelago... We could all point and go "Woah" like Keanu Reaves in pretty much all of his films. Only convincingly.
What I’m doing with my life
Trying to manage that difficult transition from quiet and a bit weird to old and a bit creepy. And quiet. And weird.

I nerd professionally, and cart dogs round for charities and make things out of carbon fibre in my spare time. So I can eat cake at the drop of a hat (sometimes the slight tilting of a hat is sufficient, especially if it's cheesecake) I run. Slowly. A long term aim is to get fit enough to run (slowly, natch!) up a mountain. I'm a fair way off...

I'm currently flirting with beard ownership. The good bit (it obscures part of my face) is somewhat outweighed by the fact that the thing obscuring my face looks like a pair of badgers fighting. Well - doing something beginning with F anyway.
I’m really good at
Modesty. Walking. Fixing things. Solving problems.

Oh - and I'm not bad at poached eggs.
The first things people usually notice about me
I normally look like I'd rather be somewhere else. You've heard of "involuntary bitch face" (ask google), well it's similar.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Telly happens to other people.
Six things I could never do without
Music. Sunshine, occasional solitude, purpose and at least one opposable digit. That'd be plenty.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Effing the ineffable. And which bin needs to go out.
On a typical Friday night I am
Playing tiddlywinks with dustbin lids as winks, a pound coin as a squidger and my tummy button as a pot. It's an inny. Handy!

Or something else essentially futile but hopefully fun.

Sometimes I stay in, watch educational programmes on BBC4 (which is basically Radio 4 for people with eyes) and feed the dog wine gums. They make her trip a tiny bit, which we both find highly entertaining.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I seldom speak. Mostly I make do with communicating my intentions and desires through the medium of interpretive dance, grunting and if I wish to convey melancholy, farting in a minor key. Funerals are particularly stressful.
You should message me if
Meh. Please yourself. I'm not going to know if you don't message me, am I?

The world turns, the sun rises and sets, the constellations whirl past unfeeling and uncaring and virtually unchanging.

Why? Because they are not aware.

And I won't be either, unless you collapse the probability waveform, freeze chaos into a discernable pattern, take a peek at the hypothetical moggy in the box (who will NOT be happy) by messaging me.

Or not, obviously.
The two of us