I've always been writing stuff. Stuff, nonsense, rubbish, poetry, prose; a whole bunch of words on paper scattered over desks, floors, drawers and covering a growing mountain of years. Now I'm going to write stuff on here and you can read it if you like.
Fat bald men on the telly. Shouting and drinking, swaying back and forth, waving, clapping, cheering. In their bright shirts, wrinkled necks, cigarettes and beer bellies. They jump up in unison; ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY.