Saints preserve us from drunken fat birds who know you can do photography, and think they can be models. I just can't be arsed to humour them anymore. It's crap, they're crap and what's more they don't even take a decent picture, 'coz they sweat and their makeup's all over the place. Also, saints preserve us from 150 mile drives back to the northern home, when you KNOW you've only got an empty house to come back to and no messages on the answerphone, that's like walking right up to the black dog, covered in premium hound food and a sign saying "come and get it". So not the best of journey's home. A bit rough in fact. Indeed, no messages, net's quiet, no real people are coming out to play.

So, frankly people, this moment in time, I can't see the point.