I’m going mad. I get back from San Fran, tanned, fit and healthy, and the first thing Bath does to me is send a team of shitting pigeons. Now my tasty cord jacket, nostalgic battered rucksack and perma-borrowed laptop have been visited by the ghost of Jackson F*cking Pollock.

And sitting at my desk, I realise I can’t keep up. There isn’t time in life to both dream, do work, read all the fantastic blogs I’ve subscribed to and books I’ve acquired, and plan for the future. I must choose two of these. In accordance with my hedonistic principles, I select read and dream, and let the others fend for themselves.

Also, I appear to have forgotten everything. I mean *everything*. I realised I can remember, like, three memories from my university days, and very little from the following four years. There’s flashes like eating an enormous matzoh ball in NYC, or kneeling in a suit and gown in a pool of my own vomit in an Oxford toilet, but little else. And no it’s not drugs, it’s just… gone. Very odd.

2 thoughts on “

  1. hey dan, are you coming down here on the 21st? i’ve got exams on either side of the weekend so i can’t come to you, and there’s no eurovision like eurovision in brighton 87)


  2. what you need to do is ask your friends for lots of photos that have you in. I’ve got one. It might help make you feel less lost. I reckon it just comes and goes, feeling like that…I had a phase in winter where I couldn’t really get a sense of having lived a life, but it did come back! Blogging helps too though, cause it reminds you of what you were doing and thinking….maybe you need to read the beginning of your blog!


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About GriddleOctopus

There are few harder things in life than introducing yourself, especially in print where mellifluous nuance can turn to indulgent wankery. So. I am definitely a 'writer'. You could also call me an 'artist'. I could probably put the words 'designer' and 'consultant' here too, but they feel crass.