Don’t blame me - Nick Mamatas made me do it.

Take a picture of yourself right now.
Don’t change your clothes. Don’t fix your hair. Just take a picture.
Post that picture with no editing. (Except maybe to get the image size down to something reasonable. Don’t go posting an eight megapixel image.)
Include these instructions.

The feeling-o-meter currently gives a reading of “chiselled sh*t”. Student season always brings the gift of fresh new plagues.

Yes, it’s one of my uglier shirts. But not the ugliest.

No, not in that way[1]. And I hope you now have the Beach Boys tune stuck in your head for the next 24 hours. Ha hah! - my middle name is Spite[2].

What I mean is that, despite being resolutely silent here, I’ve been cropping up elsewhere.

• See me ask Iain M Banks about literary manifestos!
• Observe my curmudgeonly fizzog manifesting on Warren Ellis’ site[2]!

I know, I know - it’s all too much, isn’t it?

Talking about things being a bit all-too-much, it looks like an old friend colleague fellow blogger has resurfaced from the past. At the moment he seems to be retreading a familiar path to the one I met him on; as such, I shall be observing from a safe distance. Twice shy and all that, y’know.

Other me news (because it’s all about me, after all) - my holiday is totally freakin’ booked!

Your “cool [stuff/people/places] to [see/drink/eat/kill/dance with] in Berlin” tips will be much appreciated.

Oh, look - bedtime! Nighty-night, blogosphere.

[ 1 - Pure as driven snow, me. Driven down a London gutter in front of a snowplow, that is.]

[ 2 - Yeah, I know it's not - but once the deed poll paperwork clears... ]

[ 3 - Looks like a certain Shaun C Green made the cut, too, and a few people who I think I recognised but couldn't be sure of. ]