First World Problems need First World Solutions

I just finished wrestling with a syphillitic internet tech support agent and I have finally rid my internet connection of all the foul bugs which were getting crushed and gumming up the great grinding gears which facilitated my chosen hobby: Inter-naut.

These are the battles which define our generation.

So I passed the Microsoft Word test, it seems? Thus I have an interview for next Tuesday in a part of London just East of Holborn and I do feel excited since I asked the big recruiting man at the company (who directly sought me out after seeing my CV on monster.co.uk, which felt nice) if this would be the only interview and he said "Yes". So I guess we'll see how that goes. I got a call from the nerd-job recruiter and he claims to know nothing but he'll call me when he knows something. Thanks darling!

I took a little time off from job hunting today so as to wrestle with some mundane issues but also take some long walks around the obscenely wealthy part of Reading (we're talking gated homes with private security guards) and begin to turn my hoard of script notes into script pages. Mainly my horror script, since I feel the need to do more research for the climate change story. Thus far I remain terrified.

Right then, as promised, here are some pictures from the fair towns of Oxford and Uffington.

Blackwell's is my favorite bookstore, where I returned to and snuck a picture of one of ye olde books behind glass. Across the street you have The Museum Of The History of Science, which has some really fun heads adorning it's outer gate.

The name of that ancient tomb I saw was Wayland Smithy. The name refers to a legend, I forget how it came about, that says if you leave your horse and a silver coin at the tomb overnight....when you come back some ghost will have done up new shoes for your horse?

Anyways, here I am in front of it - dressed up like little Jimmy on his seventh birthday with a new scarf which might cause the local octegenarians to remark upon what a responsible young man I appear to be.

Finally, here are a bunch of snaps from around Uffington. I just loved taking long walks around here as you cannot help feeling at peace among such broad expanses of nothing much but nature and horses. This truly epic tree is something I'd love to try painting, when I get the chance. That is the kind of tree where stories take major turning points, mark my words.

Anyways, that's enough for now - other than you might want to check out the first Dirk Hardwood excerpt. Why have I started to write Dirk Hardwood? Let me put it this way, sometimes a fella just needs to toss some half-empty beer bottles at a hornet's nest and then run like the dickens - or as the sperm donor said to the nurse "Sometimes a man just has to get it out of his system".