So. It’s finally happened. I’m talking to the Internet. How depressing. Although, not as depressing as talking to the drunk on the train, about his string of dates with a girl who works in his local butchers. His version of a meat feast almost turned me vegetarian; until I found out she grew her own. Now I’m left eating Farley’s rusks, and suffering from erectile dysfunction every time I visit Morrisons. Not that I want erections in the supermarket, that could cause me to make a rash decision when choosing between the lemon, or banana flavoured rusks.