Poor journal. Locked in the coal shed with only woodlice and the occasional foolhardy sparrow to eat, then dragged out into the harsh light with high promises of regular updates and a return to its days in the sun, then cast back into the darkness to stare at a locked door.

But I do think about it, I do want to update. I’m always waiting for ( Read more... )

I see what you’re thinking. You lie awake in the wee small hours, pause in your daily toil and are distracted from your love-making by the thought: this is not the frenzy of fascinating Livejournal updates Jenny led me to expect ( Read more... )

A shaft of light, a stranger to this place, creaks tremulously across the journal, sending the woodlice scuttling for cover.Oh god, look at the state of this journal! So many generations of spiders have made their home here that the cobwebs could get on the listed buildings register. The dust! The rot! There are mushrooms ( Read more... )