Coming back from the darkest depths, I thought I was safe. I had emerged from the pitch with a half-convinced smile, but it was bad odds and my inability to communicate on a semi-social level led to another failure to add to my ever-growing catalogue of half-arsed schemes. Now I have had my sentence increased by a further six months. These are trying times.
Once more I resign myself to the monotony and I shall pick up a paint brush, because that sure as hell beats rubbing faeces into the wall as a means of self-expression.
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