Andy Ward talks to himself.

He’s licking his own legs because they taste of raspberry, and he’s left one of his unbroken toys lying about in the living room. Most of his toys don’t have a head anymore, as, slightly worryingly, he seems to like to tear them apart to find out how they work. He’s basically the dog equivalent of Sylar.

Anyway, I thought I should update this blog as I haven’t done so in about a week, which means I must have been busy doing something. I had a gig the other night, that was fun. It wasn’t brilliant, but it was ok, and I’m kind of getting back into it a bit now. Well, I say that, I’m still what I would regard as bobbins, but I’m more relaxed about being bobbins now. I don’t even remember being nervous at all for this gig. It was quite fun.

I’m still trying to apply for jobs, though given that my last few applications have seen me claim that Die Hard is humankind’s greatest invention, and argue that an egg cooker is probably the best idea I’ve ever seen, I probably shouldn’t get my hopes up too much. I still see my salvation being in my own idiocy. If I never make any money from it, at least I might enjoy doing it, it can be quite good fun, a lot more rewarding than stacking Mars bars I’d wager. Though having said that, I had a Mars Dark the other day, and it was superb. It’s a pleasure just to be in the presence of such a delicious treat. I would recommend it to anybody.

Having got a few applications out the way, I’m going to try and do some more writing today I think. I need to cure my lethargy. Doing this blog, as spectacularly dull as it may often be, is a way to keep my hand in the writing sand, attempting to fish out diamonds that may be hidden beneath the surface. Writing poor metaphors that make no sense is also a way to try and fix my laziness. Eating noodles, that helps. I love noodles, I really do. I’d love to find a brilliant noodle bar and go there now. I went to a place called Noodle Stop in Leicester Square the other week, and that was alright, though their noodles weren’t spectacular. They were alright, and quite tasty, but I’ll still continue my quest for the best noodles in the world. Or at the very least, London.

I should never really use this blog to describe what I’m actually up to, because it tends to make for a phenomenally boring read. I don’t actually do anything that by anybody else’s standards would be classed as even remotely exciting. I’m enthralled by the prospect of noodles, that’s who I am. Most people wouldn’t be able to spend all their time consuming imaginary noodles in their head, but being a somewhat more culinary-obsessed Doctor Parnassus of sorts, that’s exactly what I do. I’d like to go outside and do stuff, but even then I think most of the stuff I’d like to do outside would revolve around eating tasty treats. Mostly that requires a bit of money to do. I need some money. I often wonder if there might be a treasure chest in my back garden, but I think it’s probably too much hassle to check, and if there weren’t one I’d be in trouble for destroying everything. I can’t decide whether it’s a risk worth taking. Perhaps I’ll just head down to Ladbrokes and see what odds I can get on there not being a treasure chest in my back garden, then even if there isn’t one, I’ll still be making a lot of money from it. This is inspired, why aren’t more people doing this? Perhaps they are. Perhaps Ladbrokes is just full to the brim of old men in cloth caps making wagers on whether there are some dubloons under their apple tree. I’ve never really spent any time in a bookmakers, so this could quite easily be true. I’m going to assume it is. It makes the world a more magical place. Anyway, I should go and cook some pasta.